


Continuity

by keograti



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Angst, Character Death, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic, Fledglings, Fluff, Gen, Heaven & Hell, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nephilim, Parent!Destiel, Parents Castiel & Dean Winchester, References to Supernatural (TV), Romance, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 73,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keograti/pseuds/keograti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel knew his end was coming-- but he never expected it to be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Falling is a gradual process for an angel, but an angel will often refuse to admit it is happening until their wings have become skeletal figures upon their backs and their grace is no more. When they may no longer fly – when they have exhausted their efforts attempting to repent for their sins-, still they will not accept that they belong to Heaven no more. They will wander the Earth for all of eternity, wailing and lost, in search of a God whose back is turned.

It was the way of the Fall, and Castiel had long since accepted the he would Fall for his sins.

He wasn’t sure when he’d accepted that the Fall was coming, but when his Grace flickered and died in the midst of battle, he was not surprised; nor was he surprised to find the world peacefully still around him, the Winchester’s and their hunter friends caught in the slow crawl of a paused time stream, surrounded by an onslaught of demons. 

It wasn’t a preferable time for a chat, but then again Joshua had never been known for his timing.

“Brother,” 

Joshua’s vessel was that of a man once called Hank, with dark skin and graying hair; his hands were rough after so long tending the Garden, his eyes light and playful despite his age. His mouth was set in a grim line.

“Brother,” Castiel returned the greeting.

“I see I have approached you at an inconvenient time,” Joshua’s eyes roamed the still world and Castiel nodded grimly, sparing a glance to the bloody blade in his grasp.

“We were ambushed,” Castiel informed his superior, wiping his blade on the arm of his coat. 

“Demons will never fail to trick us,” Joshua sighed, hands buried in pockets as he watched Castiel. The lesser angel stared at the blood smeared over his sleeve for a moment before meeting his superiors gaze.

“I mean no disrespect, Joshua, but if you have come then it is to initiate my Fall and the visit is not appreciated.”

“Not many would accept my message so willingly with a blade in hand.” Joshua eyed the weapon distastefully, but Castiel did not set it down; though the world was still around him, he was still in the midst of battle.

“I do not often let fate run its course.” Castiel agreed, “However, there are exceptions. Even I cannot prevent certain… Inconveniences on my path.”

“You believe Falling is your fate?” Joshua arched a brow, the motion so human of an angel it was unsettling— it reminded Castiel of himself, of the mannerisms of Dean’s he had unknowingly incorporated into his behavior. 

“I have sinned in my Father’s eyes, and I shall not repent for that which I do not regret.” Castiel sighed. 

“You have sinned with good intention, Castiel, and delivering your punishment pains me.”

“It is no fault of yours, Brother,” Castiel promised, taking a cautious step forward. Would the initiation of the Fall hurt? Would he feel his feathers falling away; his grace, already stressed, bleeding into nothing?

“You are not meant to Fall, Castiel.” Joshua extended a hand and Castiel placed his hand in his brothers. “He has told me your path will be different, so different it will be.”

Castiel nearly snatched his hand away in shock; his fingers twitched with the effort of restraint.

“He has spoken to you?” Castiel asked quietly. Joshua squeezed Castiel’s hand between both of his; the interaction was human in nature- like a father comforting his son. Odd that it should actually comfort Castiel.

“It is the first time in years that He has broken His silence,” Joshua nodded.

“If He does not want me to Fall… What must my punishment be?”

Joshua’s hands grew heated where they held Castiel’s, and the lesser angel felt an emotion – too long spent with humans, too much influence on part of the Winchester’s – similar to panic begin to bubble in his gut when Joshua maintained his silence.

Joshua; he was the one who heard God. He was good at listening, but never at speaking.

Heat ripped through Castiel, his grace igniting once more and raising like an angry tide within him; it was pressing against the inside of his vessel, trying to break free of its limits and explode in a flurry of light and sound. Castiel convulsed, Joshua’s hands cupping one of his own the only thing keeping him up.

“Joshua.” Castiel choked, knees digging into gravel as he slowly folded.

“Castiel,” Joshua’s hands constricted around his own and Castiel gasped, his vessel giving way to the press of grace. The world around him roared back to life, the full swing of battle carrying on around them, Castiel kneeling in the midst of it as his Grace threatened to consume him.

“May God help you.”

The words settled in Castiel’s chest, sitting heavily as everything around him exploded with light, and the demons screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel was floating.

Consciousness was a distant state, tugging at the corners of his mind with irritating persistence. Despite his attempts to burrow further into the dark comfort of his mind, the drag of something cold over his forehead coaxed him towards awareness and he reluctantly pried open his eyes, only to be greeted with a harsh light. 

Castiel made a pained noise, turning his head and regretting the movement as his eyes closed; his body felt itchy, and much too small. His grace was a churning mess inside him, twisting and jumping uneasily as he struggled to remember what had happened – why he ached in unfamiliar ways.

“Dean,” something cold probed at his forehead again, drawing a moan of protest from Castiel. “He’s awake! Cas, can you hear me? It’s Sam,”

“Joshua,” Castiel rasped, slowly piecing together what had happened before he passed out. Joshua’s hands had been hot, his expression apologetic... 

“No, Cas. It’s Sam.” 

_May God help you._

“Jesus, Sammy- give him some breathing room. Move- _move_.” Castiel cracked his eyes open just as Dean’s face moved into his line of vision, brow creased with worry. 

“Cas?”

“Dean.” Castiel replied roughly, his vocal chords straining to produce sound. What had Joshua done to him? More importantly, how was he still alive? His grace had exploded outward, that much he could remember—the explosive force of it, the light it produced.

“Fuck,” Dean rasped on an exhale, his form visibly sagging forward as Castiel watched; relief. “I thought you were dead, man! What the _hell_ was that!”

“I am not sure,” Castiel admitted weakly, struggling to sit up; his body didn’t want to comply with the order, but luckily Sam was there to help him into a sitting position. Dean straightened up where he was kneeling on the ground beside Cas, hands fluttering as if to make of move to help before falling once more to his sides. 

“You’re not sure? You set off an angelic atom bomb, and you’re not sure?” The hunter demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Castiel frowned, glancing around him; Dean was right – it looked like a bomb had gone off around them. As far as Castiel could see, the trees had been blown down, and the demons they’d been fighting were now nothing more than scattered bodies. The three other hunters they’d been working with were standing a few feet away, throwing cautious looks at Castiel over their shoulders as Sam pressed a cool towel into the angels hand and instructed him to wipe his face; that must have been what was on his forehead, waking him.

“Joshua irritated my grace,” Castiel curled in on himself, knees drawn to his chest as he slowly wiped the cool rag over his over sensitized skin; the rag came away wet with blood, but he paid it no mind. 

“Joshua as in angel Joshua?” Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel nodded weakly as he passed the rag back to Sam with a whisper of thanks. The younger Winchester nodded and stood, walking towards the Impala a few feet away; all the windows were blown out of the car Castiel noted with a sharp pang of guilt.

“When did you see him?” Dean questioned, the barely tempered frustration and anger falling from his tone as he watched Castiel carefully. The angel shrank under the hunters gaze. Never in the entirety of his existence had he felt as small- as weak- as he did now.

“He approached me during the battle,” Castiel informed his hunter, motioning to the dead demonic vessels. “You were not aware of the interruption; he put a time-lock on our conversation.” 

“He couldn’t have waited until you had a free moment?” Dean snorted. “What did he want?”

“I assumed he had come to initiate my Fall,” Castiel sighed, massaging his temples; it was something he’d noticed Dean do in the past when attempting to get rid of a headache, or stress. And Castiel was experiencing quite a stressful headache. 

“Your Fall?” Dean blinked.

“Yes, my fall from grace. I knew it was coming- it was simply a matter of time, with my behavior as it is.” 

“You mean he was basically here to give you the boot into humanity?” Dean frowned, the set of mouth exposing his displeasure with the idea. Castiel nodded. “What, so… You’re human now? He pissed off your grace, so it went boom, and you’re human?”

“You are over simplifying a very complicated matter,” Castiel sighed, cradling his throbbing head in his hands. “I am still very much angelic. I have no idea why my grace reacted in the manner it did- perhaps self defense.” 

“Pretty impressive grace-karate you’ve got there,” Dean complimented as he shifted in the gravel beside Castiel, reaching out a hand and brushing his thumb over Castiel’s upper lip.

This was new, to Castiel- Dean’s fleeting touches. It began nearly six months ago, after Castiel had helped the brothers deal with a particularly pesky poltergeist in northern Indiana; Dean was thrown into a wall, and badly injured (his spine was broken, Castiel recalled with a shudder) while Castiel watched. 

It was the first time in his very long existence that Castiel could remember feeling terror, and he’d banished the poltergeist with little more than a flick of his wrist before kneeling beside Dean and healing the injury as fast as he could. Dean, shaking with relief and lingering fear, had squeezed Castiel’s fingers hard enough that blood neglected to reach the digits; he’d only released it when Sam came running in from the other room.

Since then, Dean had been more prone to lingering touches and meaningful stares; often Castiel would catch the older Winchester eyeing him when he was helping with a case, and when Dean realized he’d been caught he would look away with pink cheeks. 

Dean’s thumb dragged slowly over his upper lip, coming away bloody. Castiel frowned.

“Whatever happened, you’re messed up man.” Dean sighed, slipping out of his plaid button up, exposing his bare arms to the winter chill. He wadded the over-shirt into a ball and used it to wipe at Castiel’s face; the angel sat still, keeping his protests to the childish treatment silent. “You’re bleeding from every freaking crack and crevice,”

“I am surprised my vessel survived the expulsion of my grace,” Castiel mumbled against the cotton fabric of the shirt, his nostrils flooded with the oddly familiar scent of Dean Winchester; motor oil, pine scented deodorant, and leather. 

“So am I,” Dean chuckled, seeming to have decided he had gotten rid of what blood he could. “Really, Cas, I’m pretty sure you wiped out an entire forest.”  
Castiel followed Dean’s eyes as they roamed the flattened trees surrounding the clearing and he couldn’t help but agree with the assessment. 

“Dean? We should go before the feds show up or something,” Sam’s voice sounded and Cas glanced up to find the younger Winchester towering over them. Dean grunted an agreeable noise as he climbed to his feet and wiped gravel dust off his pants. 

“Yeah, I’ll get everyone rounded up,” He muttered as he marched off in the direction of the small clique of hunters a few feet away, whistling to get their attention.

“How you feeling Cas?” Sam wondered, extending a hand in offer to the angel; Castiel was ashamed to realize he needed the help up as he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. 

Castiel felt wrong. 

The world was spinning around him in a blur of activity and sound, and his stomach was churning sickly – odd considering he could usually ignore his vessels needs entirely – every time he moved. His grace was a ball of activity within him, twisting itself into uneasy knots and slamming into the wall of his vessel with all its force; trying to escape.

His own grace was trying to flee its chosen vessel, and he didn’t know why.

“I’m fine,” Castiel delivered the customary Winchester response with ease, pulling his coat closed around himself; an odd form of comfort that Jimmy Novak used to ritually perform when he inhabited this body.

Hyper aware of Sam’s eyes on his back, Castiel made his way to the Impala and folded himself into the back seat; he would not risk flying, not when his grace was so unsettled. 

After a brief chat with the other hunters, Sam and Dean climbed into their respective spots in the car. Dean cast a questioning look at the angel in the back seat.

“Hopping a ride, Cas?” He questioned. Castiel nodded.

It was hard to ignore Dean’s worried stare as they drove away, but Castiel did his best.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel abhorred human methods of transport. The speed of travel was sickeningly slow, and the ache to fly was almost physical as he shifted restlessly in his seat. Dean was fiddling with the stereo, trading out the Metallica cassette for something new by a band called Def Leppard. He sang along obnoxiously loud – and off key -, his thumbs following the pattern of the drums on the steering wheel. Despite Sam’s annoyed expression, Castiel decided he liked Dean’s singing; it was strangely endearing, watching the hunter fight off a grin as he wailed along with the music.

Castiel tore his eyes away from his companions to look out what should have been a window; there was no glass left anywhere in the Impala, though, thanks to his explosion earlier in the day. The wind whipped through the car with stinging strength, but none of the three passengers seemed to be bothered by it.

In little over an hour, they had managed to cover only eighty miles. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and there was nothing but crop fields as far as the eye could see. 

Castiel could have circled the globe in three minutes and forty two seconds, if he was flying.

Sighing, Castiel curled in on himself, drawing his knees to his chest in a human gesture of weakness. Though the nausea and dizziness had subsided enough to allow for clear thought, his grace was still behaving entirely out of the normal; twisting, turning, rolling- his whole body was humming, vibrating as the tension under his skin tried to split his vessel open and spill out. 

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost didn’t catch the snapping-flutter of wings over the wind. 

Castiel barely had time to retrieve his blade from within his coat and issue a gruff “Dean” before a body dropped down in the seat beside him and Dean slammed on the breaks, sending the Impala into a skidding stop in the center of the highway. Castiel’s blade was against the neck of the new occupant of the car, his hand fisted in the strangers coat sleeve, before the car had come to a complete stop.

“Hello to you, too, little brother.” 

Gabriel raised his head to avoid a nick on the chin from Castiel’s blade, hands slowly rising in a motion of surrender. He arched one golden brow, eyes flickering from Castiel’s blade to his face. Something akin to affection – and surprise – fluttered in Castiel’s chest. 

“It is not wise to drop in unannounced,” Castiel scolded, lowering his weapon and tucking it back in his coat once more. Gabriel visibly relaxed, hands dropping on to the leather seat at his sides. 

“Well, you don’t exactly have an open channel,” He said, emphasizing his point with a flick to Castiel’s temple before leaning forward, grinning at the humans in the front seat. “Boys. How goes the Anti-Apocalypse club?”

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Sam blanched, staring at Gabriel with a mix of fury and surprise. 

“I’m supposed to be a lot of things, big boy.” Gabriel winked, ruffling Sam’s hair as he turned to Dean. “Why so quiet, Dean-O?”

Dean said nothing, jaw ticking as he narrowed his eyes at Gabriel.

“Ok-ay,” Gabriel rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “While you work on your impression of Castiel, I’m going to have a chat with our dear little angel.”

Dean choked out a sound of objection, turning in his seat to grab a hold of Gabriel, but his fingers had barely brushed the hem of Gabriel’s shirt before the arch-angel’s wings snapped open, and he dragged Castiel away from the car with him.

Castiel’s wings opened on instinct, catching the air between powerful feathers, and he sighed in relief when the churning mess of his grace did nothing to affect his flight; Gabriel shot forward at alarming speed in front of him, and Castiel followed until the archangel dropped gracefully on to a suburban street. His own landing was far less attractive than usual, and ended with a stumble and a sick roll of his stomach. 

Gabriel gave him a pitying look, but made no comment.

“Finland?” Castiel stated, glancing at Gabriel as the arch-angel motioned him to follow. 

“Finland.” Gabriel confirmed, burying his hands in his pockets as they strolled down the sidewalk. 

It was nearing two in the morning, a stark difference to the setting sun in Illinois where Castiel had been with the Winchesters a moment ago, and the moon was a quiet presence over their heads. The small city around them slept, only the occasional late-night bypasser drifting past them in the shadowed streets. 

“I am not displeased to see you are alive and healthy, Gabriel,” Castiel glanced at his companion. “But what has brought you out of hiding?”

Gabriel chuckled softly, so very natural in his human behaviors; the way he scratched at his stubbled jaw, and avoided eye-contact. It was no surprise he was able to hide amongst humans for as long as he had. 

“Seems every time I’m trying to lay low, you go and shoot yourself in the foot.” Gabriel shook his head as he stopped in front of a small yellow-painted building, opening the door and motioning Castiel inside. 

“I have not… Shot myself,” Castiel frowned as he moved in through the opened door, waiting for Gabriel to follow him. 

“Not literally,” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I mean that you’ve got yourself in one hell of a pickle, and I can’t expect the Winchesters to look after you, cause they never do.”

“Sam and Dean do not need to look after me,” Castiel shot Gabriel a dark look as the pair ascended a set of stairs, and arrived in a cozy living room. Though small, the room was decorated to look spacious; plenty of mirrors, and rich colors. There was a kitchenette in the far corner, and Gabriel rushed to attend to a pot of boiling liquid as Castiel eyed the space.

“You have been hiding in Finland?” He glanced at Gabriel, surprised that no one had been able to trace him.

“Not my usual hustle-and-bustle scene, little brother,” Gabriel shrugged as he carried the still-boiling water to the sink and drained it into a strange plastic container with holes in the bottom. “Everyone’s looking for me either in the big cities, or the middle of nowhere; so I settled for something in between.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Castiel nodded, lowering himself into one of the plush leather chairs in the room; the cushions gave under his weight, and he found himself oddly weary as he leaned back into the furniture’s embrace. 

“Exactly,” Gabriel jerked a spoon in Castiel’s direction before using it to scrape the last remnants of what appeared to be pasta out of the now empty bowl. “There is no better way to outsmart angels than human behavior,”

Castiel settled in, watching as Gabriel dumped a pile of pasta on a plate and dribbled some white-sauce on it, topping the whole thing with a handful of mushrooms.  
“You need to remember that, Castiel; it’s valuable information.”

Castiel frowned as Gabriel took a seat in the chair across from him, balancing his plate on his lap and working on wrapping a fair amount of pasta around his fork.

“Gabriel, is there something you wish to discuss?” He watched as the archangel chewed for a time before swallowing. 

“I’m just trying to get you ready for what’s coming,” Gabriel stood, leaving his plate on the arm of his chair as he returned the kitchen to retrieve a salt shaker. 

“The Apocalypse was prevented, while you were in hiding. There is no threat to this world, with Lucifer put away.” Castiel spoke with conviction, nearly snarling as Gabriel returned to his seat.

“I’m not talking about the Apocalypse, little brother,” Gabriel tipped the shaker, tiny white particles of salt falling atop his pasta before he set the shaker aside and used his fork to mix the salt in with the food. Castiel’s already unstable stomach rolled twice before settling.

“Is there a crisis to be dealt with?” Castiel leaned forward in his chair, watching as Gabriel took his time in twirling the pasta around his fork, studying it as he spoke.

“A few, actually,” The arch-angel brought the fork to his mouth, speaking now around a mouthful of food. “My foremost concern is keeping you alive, though. Only Dad knows how far off the reserve Dean might go with you gone.”

“I have done well to survive, Gabriel, and Dean would move forward without me.” Castiel frowned, giving his brother a belligerent stare. It wasn’t a lie; he was usually very good at protecting himself, and the humans in his charge. The situation with Joshua would be detrimental to his ability to protect the boys, once the Fall began, but for now he would go on as if nothing had changed. “I mean no disrespect, but your help is hardly necessary.”

“You’re wrong,” Gabriel sighed, setting the plate aside and shifting in his chair to tuck his legs underneath himself, his eyes roaming Castiel’s face in silence for awhile before he spoke. “Castiel, you are in severe danger… You need to forget about the Winchester’s for a bit, and think about yourself. Don’t tell me you can’t feel your grace doing a circus act, little brother.” 

Castiel stiffened, hands clenching into fists by his sides. 

“My grace is fine.”

“Is that why you went nuclear on a forest earlier today?” Gabriel scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Castiel, every angel on the planet could feel that explosion… I’ve been trying to keep the blood-hounds off your scent all afternoon.”

“It was involuntary,” Castiel promised. “My grace was protesting the initiation of my Fall.”

“Your Fall?” Gabriel laughed harshly, shaking his head. “You are not Falling, little brother. Far from it.” 

Castiel blinked, searching the arch-angels face for any signs of deception; there was nothing but concerned honesty in Gabriel’s open expression. 

“That is… Impossible. Joshua came to me, he-” Castiel began but Gabriel cut him off with a sharp look.

“Joshua can be a pretty cryptic asshole,” Gabriel accused. “He really didn’t tell you what he did to you?”

“No.” 

“Did he say anything to you?” Gabriel demanded. “Anything that seemed out of the ordinary?” 

“No,” Castiel hesitated, Joshua’s heavy voice floating in the back of his mind. “Well… Yes. Before he touched my vessel, he said ‘May God help you,’” Gabriel nodded gravely at the new information, rubbing his jaw as he stared thoughtfully at his shoes. 

“Castiel, you need to listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you.” Gabriel sighed, eyes meeting his brothers as he leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on his knees. “There’s nothing good about what I have to say, and I doubt your reaction will be much more pleasant, but… Just hear me out before you go flapping off, alright?”

Castiel nodded at him to continue.

“When Joshua touched you, he gave you something the archangels have taken to calling a _severance divisor_ … He basically put a parasite in your grace, Castiel; you turned the woods into Hiroshima because your grace was trying to expel the thing before it could latch on. Didn’t work, but it was a valiant effort.”

Gabriel rubbed his hands together, seeming at loss for words, and Castiel was acutely aware of the ugly churning of his grace. He suddenly felt repulsion for his very life-force; how could it have failed to expel the parasite? 

“What will the parasite do to me?” Castiel demanded through gritted teeth.

“It will kill you,” Gabriel stated bluntly. “It will use your grace to feed itself, until it consumes your grace entirely- it will become you, and you – what you are now - will no longer exist.”

Castiel stared at Gabriel, waiting for something more; some secret information that would help him survive, or a punch-line for this awful joke. Instead, Gabriel retrieved his pasta and swallowed another bite. 

“Congratulations, it’s a bouncing baby death trap.” Gabriel deadpanned, when Castiel did not respond.

Castiel stood, the need to move overcoming him as he began to pace a slow circle around the room, ignoring his brother's sarcastic joking. Gabriel watched, wiping a bit of white sauce away from his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. 

“How long until the process is complete?” Castiel wondered aloud.

“You’ve got eight months at the most… As many angels as you’ve got on your tail – and as weak as that bugger will make you…. I’d give you four.”

“I only have four months to live,” Castiel worried, running his fingers through his hair in a habit he vaguely recalled he’d picked up from Dean. “If I die, the Winchesters will have no guidance… No protection. They will be open to attack at every turn, they will-”

“You’re dying, and all you’re worried about is the Winchesters?” Gabriel glared from his chair, fork poised half-way to his lips. “Have a little concern for yourself for once, Castiel! You’re not under Heaven’s rules anymore- you’re allowed to put yourself before your duties. You may not be human, but you can at least think like one.”

“My life is miniscule in comparison to the thousands that will be lost, should the Winchesters be lost! Besides, you hardly seem concerned, brother; you are more interested in your meal than my survival.” Castiel barked in reply, tensing. Gabriel’s expression darkened and he sank further into his chair, saying nothing as he shoveled another mouthful and chewed slowly. 

Castiel slowly relaxed, eyes falling to the ground in a display of apology and submission as he returned to his chair across from Gabriel. The arch-angel said nothing, simply watching as Castiel settled in.

“Why do you eat at such a time, Gabriel? You do not need the sustenance,” Castiel questioned, voice surprisingly small in the wake of his brothers disapproving stare.

Gabriel gave no answer; instead, he slowly rose from his seat and stood. Castiel watched as he crossed the room to the small kitchenette and retrieved a clean bowl- filling it with pasta, sauce, and mushrooms- before he turned and moved towards Castiel. 

“I need the humanity, sometimes; helps me remember why I gave Heaven up.” He held the bowl out towards Castiel, expression grave as the smaller angel took the offering. “With all the shit you’re about to go through… You could do with a reminder, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I hope you're enjoying this piece, it's a new idea I'm really excited to get written out. I was going to update daily, but nothing will be going up tomorrow-- it's actually my birthday, so I'm going to give myself a break! :) Thanks for the kudos!!!


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel returned to the Winchester’s only after finishing his meal, spreading his wings and taking flight as Gabriel stood at the sink and worked to withhold his smug grin, knowing he had at least partially convinced Castiel to take care of himself. Finland disappeared beneath him in scenes of sea spray and small houses, and the rest of the world was nothing but a passing blur until he returned once more to the rolling fields of Illinois. It was dark now, the fields and small towns quiet for the night. Castiel found the Winchesters at a motel not far from where he had left them when he vanished with Gabriel.

After a less than graceful landing, he found himself knocking quietly on the door to room four at Motel 6.

There was a quiet moment, a shuffling within, before the door swung open to reveal a rather irritated looking Dean Winchester. Castiel watched as his expression changed quickly from wary, to surprised.

“Dude, what the hell!” He demanded, and Cas was being dragged into the room by his arm, the door closed and locked behind him. Sam was sitting at a small table in the room, cleaning weapons by the looks of it, and he paused when he noticed Cas.

“I apologize… My brother needed to speak with me. It was urgent.”

“Urgent? Urgent?” Dean growled, and Castiel realized that he was wearing nothing but a thin white shirt and worn black boxers; preparing for bed, most likely. “We had no idea where he took you Cas! He could have killed you and we never would have known, and you just l-“

“Dean.” Castiel’s sigh seemed to take the fight out of the hunter, and Dean’s eyebrows stooped low over his eyes and he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Please… I have had a… Trying, day. I wish to rest, without argument.”

Dean studied him a long moment and Castiel returned his gaze; he only now noticed the bruising along the hunter’s arms and legs, the way he hesitated to put pressure on his left ankle, and a cut that spanned the length of his jaw. Dean looked tired, and if Castiel could read Dean’s pitying expression as well as he thought, he must look just as exhausted.

“Yeah… Yeah, sorry, man.” Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re human now, right? Or, uh… I mean… Do you sleep now? Are you going to need a bed?”

“Yes,” Castiel decided with a bob of his head.

“Alright. Sammy,” Dean called, and Sam looked up from his work with the weapons to acknowledge his brother. “You want to share a bed with me, or Cas?”

“I’m the biggest one here—I’ll sleep by myself.” Sam put his foot down. “It makes sense and you know it.” He added when he noticed Dean’s frown.

The older brother sighed, rolling his eyes before pulling a hand through his hair and nodding. “Alright,” he said, glancing briefly at Cas. “Go get a shower, and I’ll see if I’ve got something you can wear to sleep in.”

Castiel nodded without comment, moving silently into the in-suite bathroom and closing the door behind himself.

He had been handed quite a lot of information, Castiel suddenly realized, and he was alone for the first time to process it.

Slowly, hesitantly, as if unsure of himself, Castiel began to undress. First came the trench coat, which he draped gingerly over the towel rack. Next he stepped out of his shoes, unrolling his socks and then loosening his tie with fumbling fingers. The buttons on his shirt proved to be quite a feat, but he managed to finally get his shirt and the one under it off, removing his pants and underwear lastly.

Something about it, the act of undressing, was alarmingly human.

Castiel felt an unfamiliar pressure in his throat, and stinging in his eyes; concerned, he brushed salty liquid from his cheeks. Tears, he thought, I’m crying. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed his suspicions, and he was surprised to see that he looked truly distraught; uncontrollable tears, a slight tremble in his body, blood caked on his skin from his earlier battle.

He could feel his grace shifting miserably inside him, and he wished he could see it on the outside; that this was a wound he could attend to, heal from.

Four months.

121 days.

2,904 hours.

174,240 minutes.

10,454,400 seconds left to live.

For the first time in his existence, Castiel experienced the fear of mortality; he could feel each breath drawn into his vessel, each exhale that passed his lips—his mortality, draining from him as quickly as his grace was being devoured by the parasite within it.

There was a knock on the bathroom door and Castiel jumped at the sound of Dean’s muffled “You decent?”

“Give me a moment,” He cleared his throat, winding a towel around his waist the way he had seen the Winchester’s do thousands of times. He wiped irritably at his eyes before opening the door to reveal Dean with an armful of clothing. The hunter’s eyes were cast to the ground, but he looked up as Castiel reached to take the clothes from him. His gaze crawled over Castiel’s skin, and the angel was careful to divert his eyes as he waited for Dean to hand the clothes over.

“I, uh… They might be a little big, but they should do the trick,” Dean said after a pause. Castiel nodded, his eyes on Dean’s bare feet, the skin pale from lack of sunlight.

“Thank you,” He mumbled, grabbing the articles from the hunter and backing into the bathroom once more. He almost had the door closed before Dean’s fingers curled around the knob.

“Cas.”

Castiel swallowed, looking up slowly; Dean’s eyes were two vibrant gems, burning into Castiel.

“Are you okay?”

It was evident that Dean was uncomfortable—emotional discussions were hardly within his comfort zone—but the effort was enough to bring the barest of smiles to Castiel’s mouth.

“I’m fine.” He lied, and Dean didn’t try to prevent him from closing the door this time.

The shower he found, once he managed to turn it on and get in, was relieving; the hot water seemed to wash some of the tension out of his body, and once he was dried off and dressed in an old pair of Dean’s boxers and a long sleeve shirt that was much too big for him, he felt minutely better.

Four months, he tried to argue with himself, was manageable. As he opened the bathroom door and carded a hand through his damp hair, he thought that four months was enough time to get his affairs in order.

Maybe.

The room was dark he noticed, a solitary figure occupying one of the two beds in the room. Castiel could tell by the familiar outline that it was Dean, lying on his side and facing the window; the street lamp painted his face in odd shades of orange.

“Where’s Sam?” He asked, knowing Dean was awake, despite his closed eyes.

“He went for a drink,” Dean’s voice was quiet in the darkened room, and Castiel lowered himself to the mattress beside his companion with slow and deliberate movements, as if he might startle Dean.

“You didn’t join him?”

“No,” Dean said, and Castiel laid on his back, leaving a decent inch between himself and Dean and not bothering to slide beneath the blankets. “I didn’t want to leave you here alone.”

“I can handle myself,” Castiel found himself trying to convince someone for the second time that day.

“It’s not about that,” Dean huffed, and Castiel turned his head to the side only fractionally when Dean rolled over to face him. “You got booted out of Heaven, Cas… That’s a pretty shit day in anyone’s book--I know you can handle yourself, but you don’t have to sit and suffer alone… I mean… Sammy and I, we’re… We’re your family. We’re here for you, whatever you need, ya know?”

“I know.” Castiel whispered, watching the ceiling.

“Do you?” Dean challenged, and Castiel couldn’t find it in him to respond, Gabriel’s words echoing through his head.

_…You need to forget about the Winchester’s for a bit, and think about yourself..._

“I do, Dean,” He said, a bit more conviction in his words as he turned to glance at the hunter. He found Dean to be surprisingly close in the space, features cast in shadows as he squinted at him in the dark. “But there are some things that not even family can help with.”

“Bullshit,” said Dean with a shake of his head. “I don’t believe that. I mean, I know we’re the farthest thing from a traditional bunch, but… We support each other, no matter what. Whether you’re having a bad day, or you’ve got nightmares, or hell if you’re doing something pretty normal like… Having trouble getting a date, or deciding which team you want to bat for. I mean… It doesn’t make a difference to me what’s going on, alright? You’re the closest thing to family I’ve got besides Sammy, and… If you’re messed up, man, I’m gonna be here to take the edge off if I can.”

It was clear in Dean’s stumbled, ranting format that he was uncomfortable. This was a vulnerable Dean, the one Castiel only caught glimpses of when the two were alone. The Dean that Sam only ever witnessed when things had come to a boiling point.

This was the Dean that only his family got to see.

“I am indifferent to sexuality,” Cas rasped, meeting Dean’s eyes; his lips twitched in the barest of smiles at his own attempt at a joke, but Dean’s responding grin was wide and relieved.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, asshole,” He chuckled, closing his eyes. Castiel decided he liked this version of Dean, relaxed and carefree, tucked safely in between the blankets of a motel bed. When Dean opened his eyes again, Cas looked quickly over his head, out the window, realizing he had been caught staring.

“Do you get what I’m saying, though?” Dean asked, and Cas could feel him shifting, causing the mattress to jostle. “I mean… Do you believe me?”

“I do, Dean.” He admitted his eyes drifting back to Dean’s face. The hunter was watching him with an odd expression, more pensive than Cas had seen him in quite some time.

“Good,” He nodded, bobbing his head slowly; his moving head brushed against the sheets, the scratch of the sheets an oddly calming sound in the dark. “Cause… I’ve thought you were dead one too many times, Cas. And… It’s not a good feeling. If you’re into something, and you think you can handle it on your own… Don’t. Just… Ask for help, alright? I… I can’t keep losing people. Especially not you and Sammy… I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you two.”

_… how far off the reserve Dean might go with you gone…_

“Dean…” Cas frowned, watching as Dean looked up at him with wide green eyes. They were wide open windows to his soul, which Cas could see vibrating brightly within him. The usual gruffness to his voice was gone, replaced with the soft, tired whisper of a Dean Cas wasn’t sure he had ever witnessed before— at least not so close, not so personal.

He wanted to tell him.

 _I have four months to live,_ he wanted to whisper, _you will lose me, and you will move on, and you will survive because you are Dean Winchester and you are strong._

“Thank you,” He whispered instead. Dean’s soul bounced happily within him, and it was the most beautiful thing Cas had seen in a long time—it brought a smile to his lips, made the uneasy turning of his grace seem like background noise in the wake of his charge’s happiness.

“Don’t mention it, buddy,” Dean said with the softest of smiles, reaching out to card a hand through Cas’s hair; it was one of the soft, lingering touches Cas had begun to crave. All too soon, though, Dean had pulled his hand back and yawned, shifting around so that his back was again to Cas.

“C’mon—get under the blankets,” He mumbled into the empty room, but Cas knew the command was for him. He slowly pulled the blankets back, sliding beneath. He could feel the heat of Dean’s body a bare inch from him, and he laid on his back, the ceiling spread above him like an empty night sky.

“Goodnight, Dean.” He issued softly.

“Night, Cas,”


	5. Chapter 5

Morning came quickly, and Castiel woke to find himself in an empty bed.

He could not remember dreaming, but an unpleasant anxiety hovered over him despite his rest. He could feel it deep within his bones, vibrating as uneasily as his grace, which was, he noted, depleted. He could feel the parasite at the edge, gnawing hungrily. His grace was not fighting as strongly, simply lying down and taking the abuse now—what would fighting do, anyways, besides delay the inevitable?

“Rise and shine,” Dean’s voice startled him, and he glanced up to find the oldest Winchester standing at the foot of his bed, still ruffled from sleep, but looking awake and alert.

It wasn’t even light outside.

“Dean,” Cas complained, sitting up—and quickly falling back to the mattress with a soft exhale of surprise.

He ached, in a way entirely unfamiliar to him. His ribs screamed in agony, muscles and joints stiff and barely responsive. His head throbbed, and he remembered vaguely the blood Dean had been mopping off his face yesterday. Had he been cut, or had his exploding grace simply caused him to bleed from his ears, eyes, and nose? He should have looked closer in the mirror yesterday.

Dean’s eyebrows creased in concern as he took a step towards the bed.

“You okay?”

“I… I am sore,” Cas answered, sitting up once more, much more slowly, and swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. He dropped his head between his knees, despite the pulsating agony in his ribs at his curled position.

“One sec,” Dean said, and Cas did not move from his curled position. There was a muffled sound, Dean sorting through something, the tap running, then Dean was crouching in front of him, head level with Cas’s.

“Here,” He said, holding out his hands; there were two white tablets in one palm, a glass of water in the other. Cas took them slowly, placing the tablets on his tongue and using the water to wash them down as he had noticed the Winchester’s do countless times.

Dean watched him, and Cas was sure he had never seen his charge frown so deeply. It was drastically different from the grinning Dean from last night, and Cas decided he didn’t like it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He demanded tersely, suddenly agitated.

Dean blinked, obviously taken aback, and stood. “Well. I guess we know you’re not a morning person, now.” He mumbled, disappearing into the bathroom. Castiel heard the shower running after a moment, and swallowed down the guilt of his outburst as he rose from the bed and wandered around the room, stopping in front of Dean’s bag.

He bent, slowly, unzipping the duffel and rooting around quietly—Sam’s clothes would not fit him, that much was common sense. Dean’s might be slightly large, but still a better option.

He wondered briefly where Sam was as he pulled a pair of jeans from Dean’s bag, sliding them on and rooting around for a belt to secure them to his hips. Once done, he slid his old dress shoes on and fished Jimmy Novak’s wallet from the pocket of the trench coat. He would need to go buy his own clothing, he decided.

Sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, Castiel was unsure what to do with himself now. There was a hollow ache in his stomach which he had been associating with the turning of his grace, but when it issued a rumble he decided it might be hunger. A quick glance around the room told him there was no food, and he frowned as he stood and wandered out of the room. There were typically vending machines at these motels, were there not?

The motel was right next to the highway, and Cas could hear the soft rumble of car engines and the sound as they drove quickly past. The vacancy sign blinked at him from above, and there were no sounds from the other rooms; either they were empty, or their tenants had yet to rise.

The pre-dawn air was cool against his face, and it smelled like impending rain as Cas strolled down the walkway to the vending machine he had been looking for. He peered in at the snacks, unsure which one would be worth devouring, and selected a packaged pastry after a moment. He used a bill from Jimmy Novak’s wallet, punching in the correct series of numbers, and collecting his change and the food as they dropped into their respective slots. He peeled back the plastic gingerly, and took a bite of the sticky item; it tasted sweet, he noted, leaving a sugary film on his lips as he took another bite and wandered back towards the motel room.

When he stepped inside, all the lights in the room were on and Sam was sitting at the small table near the door.

“Hey, Cas,” He greeted, his eyes traveling to the pastry in Cas’s grip.

“Hello, Sam.” He returned, closing the door behind himself and sitting on the end of his and Dean’s bed. “Did you enjoy your evening out?”

“Yeah, I did, thanks,” He nodded, and Castiel noticed two cups of coffee in front of his friend. Sam’s eyes followed his, and he blushed.

“Sorry, I would have gotten you some, but… I didn’t know you were, um… Eating. And sleeping. And… Human.”

“It’s alright,” He allowed, taking another bite of his snack and chewing slowly before swallowing. “I am not human, yet. It will take some time for me to fall from grace entirely.”

Four months to live.

“Yeah… Look, Cas, I’m sorry that this is happening to you. I mean, you only ever tried to do the—“

“Sam, please.” Cas shook his head, finishing his snack and tossing the wrapper in the trash. “There is nothing that can be done for me… We shouldn’t dwell on it.”

Castiel could feel the anxiety in his bones spiking to dangerous levels as he realized the truth of his own words.

Sam nodded, and about the same time Dean came out of the bathroom, showered and clothed in a pair of worn jeans and a red plaid flannel, opened over a black shirt. He grunted a greeting at Sam, bending to retrieve his coffee, before sitting beside Cas on the end of the bed closest to the door. Surprisingly, he passed the cup to Cas.

“It’ll help you be a better morning person,” He gruffed, but Cas knew it was teasing.

Cas took it, holding it in both hands; it was warm, steam slipping from the small hole which one was supposed to sip from. Dean reached in his duffel for a pair of socks, bending to put them on, then paused.

“Cas,”

“Yes?”

“Are those my jeans?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,”

Their relationship was easy, Cas decided, and that was what he appreciated the most about Dean Winchester. Dean did not question him, and he rarely reprimanded him—he could be himself around Dean. Dean allowed him to question things, and to consider them. He allowed Castiel to express himself in whatever way he needed, and Cas gladly allowed Dean to do the same.

In simple terms, they understood each other.

It was the easiest, most comfortable series of interactions Castiel had ever had with another being in his very long life, and he decided this is what he would miss the most when he was gone.

Sam watched the two of them curiously, his eyes passing from Dean to Cas in a slow line as Cas took a long sip of the coffee, ignoring the way the liquid burned his tongue and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“So, where are we headed today, Sammy?” Dean interrupted the silence, stamping his feet to settle his heels in his boots.

“Uh,” Sam blinked, seeming to come out of thought, “String of spousal murders.”

“What’s abnormal about that?” Dean frowned, should brushing Cas’s as he crossed his arms.

“They’re all couples who have been together for ten or more years, and who have never had a history of violence or discord. And it’s all in the same town,” Sam elaborated, and Cas glanced at Dean, watching his eyebrows furrow with thought.

“Okay, that does sound a little more our style,” He admitted, glancing briefly at Cas before looking to Sam again. “Where?”

“Uh…” Sam frowned, shifting in his seat. “Lawrence,”

“What?” Castiel could feel Dean stiffen beside him.

“Yeah, uh… the whole city is sort of going insane,” Sam took a long sip of his coffee, watching as Dean slowly nodded and stood.

“Alright. Well if we hit the road now, we could maybe make it before lunch,” He said, bending to zip his duffel and glancing back at Cas with a curious look. “But… We should probably stop and get Cas some clothes, first. He can’t keep wearing mine—I don’t want to have to do laundry any more frequently than we have to.”

“Dean, it’s…” Sam glanced at his watch. “Six o’clock in the morning. Nothing is going to open for another hour or three,”

“Then we’ll stop on the way,” Dean shrugged and Cas stood, taking another long sip of the coffee in his hands and watching as the brother’s quickly gathered their belongings and headed to the Impala. Castiel trailed behind, moving in somewhat of a daze. Even with the caffeine from the coffee and the painkillers Dean had given him, Cas still felt tired and stiff, and each movement seemed to require thought before being made.

“You alright, Cas?” Sam asked, and Cas looked up at the same time Dean glanced back at their companion.

“He’s fine,” Dean answered before Cas could, and Dean came over to place a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the back door of the Impala and guiding him to slide in. Cas did so without complaint, still clinging to his coffee, and Dean shut the door behind him.

Cas watched him say something to Sam in a hushed voice outside the car, before Sam nodded and they both climbed in the car.

Castiel knew they were talking about him; in fact, he knew Dean was probably telling Sam to give him space, or something of the likes. It was Dean's nature to be protective of those he viewed as weakened, or wounded-- and he currently thought that Castiel was falling from grace, so the ex-angel figured he would qualify for Dean's over protective tendencies.

The way Sam glanced at him was enough to confirm his suspicions, and he found himself slipping lower in the seat in a clearly human gesture of discomfort. Dean, too, spared a look at him; Castiel wasn't sure what to think of the grim set of his jaw when he looked away, or the hyper-focused attention on the road as the hunter began to drive.

He decided not to dwell on it too much, Gabriel's advice sitting heavy in the forefront of his mind.

Castiel was sick, and Gabriel was right; he had to consider himself for once.

Closing his eyes, Castiel focused on the feel of the soft morning breeze through the shattered windows, and how it reminded him of flight. His wings extended in the small space of the cab, as far as he could make them go, and the feathers ruffled noisily in the breeze. He could hear Sam and Dean's questioning sounds, but they were distant; Castiel had slipped away to somewhere else entirely.


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone's mind is different. After many years of existence, Castiel knew this better than anyone; some minds presented themselves as wide open fields, whereas others appeared as endless mazes. It all depended on the person, the experiences they had and the lives they lead. An introvert was more likely to have a calm and organized mind, full to the brim, while an extrovert's was frequently chaotic and constantly changing. 

Castiel's mind bore a striking resemblance to the Austrian Admont Abbey library, which he had visited upon its opening so many years ago. He stood at its heart, a figure of light and sound only, without a vessel. The hum of his grace filled the space, echoing off of domed ceilings where the progression of thought and knowledge were painted in bright murals. The books around him were not, in fact, the volumes housed in the actual Abbey; these volumes were branded with Enochian symbols, and colors unknown to the human eye-- Castiel's memories, enough to fill a library much larger than the one which it presented itself as for the moment. 

Castiel moved with a quiet grace through his mind, down the long hall until he came across a mirror he was sure he had not seen upon visiting the Abbey.

What Castiel saw there was frightening.

The form before him was his most raw; his grace, fractured into a million different particles of light and sound and energy. His grace mainly presented itself in shades of white and gold, but nearly a third of it was cast in odd shades of blue and green—the parasite.

Castiel examined this area closely, sickly intrigued with the way the parasite was slowly invading and altering his own grace; according to Gabriel, it would consume him, and Cas could see that the process may be much quicker than either of them had previously thought. The thing was quick, and vicious, eating away with a passion and a fervor that made Castiel want to recoil. 

Castiel watched it in the mirror, the way it was gnawing at untouched portions of his grace, slowly dying it blue or green with time. 

And then, suddenly, Castiel became aware that he was being watched, too.

He could feel it’s eyes, the quiet rumble of consciousness; it was aware enough, Castiel realized, to think, though not intelligently. It was almost as if Castiel was seeing a movie from two different perspectives; attached as the creature was to his grace, he could see and feel as it did. He could feel its curiosity as it watched him, feel its shame when it recognized Castiel’s disgust. 

He could feel it looking eagerly around, seeking… Something. 

With a sinking stomach, realization dawned on Castiel.

This was a parasite in the traditional term, yes—but it was something else, too.

It was an angel.

Castiel had never been around fledglings much, because there weren’t frequently any, but he knew well enough to recognize one; the brightness of their innocence, their desire for peace and protection. The being, the angel, he realized, was indeed feeding off his grace—because it was nursing. Much like a young infant might be fed through the placenta of its mother; Castiel’s grace was the sustenance for this young one.

There was rarely, if ever, more than two or three fledglings in Heaven at once, so seeing one this close was interesting to Castiel. As immortal beings, there was no need for repopulation unless the current population was dwindled. No angel had ever questioned how the fledglings came into being—only the archangels were privy to that information. Female angels were immune from pregnancy in the traditional sense, and male angels could only contribute (though forbidden to do so) Nephilim children; that was all the angels were taught, and they didn’t dare to ask more.

Come to think of it, the angelic population always remained constant. If a fledgling was introduced, it was only because an angel had passed away recently. During the apocalypse, when the death toll was high, the fledgling rate had skyrocketed, but all of them had been hidden away for their own safety. Castiel frowned, thinking hard of the information.

A sudden, horrible realization turned his being entirely white.

The correlation had been there for years, but neither he nor his brothers and sisters had thought to put it together. 

The death of an angel was explosive, producing such an outpouring of grace that every angel could feel when a brother or sister had passed; their grace would flood back to the Host, where no one had dared to think what happened beyond that—until now.

Castiel had been infected with a parasite—what better to feed a parasite then the grace of an angel, returned to the host?

These parasites, the fledglings, were recycled.

Every angel had stemmed from the death of a brother or a sister.

His whole species, it dawned on him, survived through the death of its own members.

Castiel stared long and hard at that mirror, watching the fledgling at the edge of his grace as it watched him—and suddenly he didn’t feel anxious about his death, anymore. He didn’t feel wrong. He did not feel afraid.

He felt… Regret.

Castiel regretted that he would not be present to guide the barely formed being clinging to him, to see what it became as it matured. Would it care for the humans as he had, would it rebel against the Host and act upon what is right, instead of what it is told?

Would it be like him?

Would it protect Dean?

The blue-green being twisted, curled, then settled, ceasing in its feast to settle into a soft, distant state of rest.

Castiel watched a moment longer before turning from the mirror, wandering away in his mind. He was vaguely aware of reality, somewhere far away but coming closer; Dean’s voice echoing the halls, heavy with concern, but he didn’t want to return.

The importance, the gravity of the discovery he had just made had not yet had time to settle within him. He wanted more time to process this, to consider why his Father would burden him with this rather than initiating his fall—to study the fledgling.

However, reality was too close now, and in the blink of an eye, Castiel was once more sitting in the interior of the Impala, grace confined within a too-small vessel.  
“You with us?” It took Castiel a moment to realize Dean was hovering over him, one hand on his shoulder. 

"Yes," Castiel replied, his voice scratchy. Dean watched him a moment longer, eyes scanning his face, before he leaned away, back out the car door.

"Alright, just checking... You were talking in your sleep, spilled your damn coffee all over the place," Dean groused, and Castiel didn't bother to explain that he hadn't been sleeping as he looked down to find a brown stain in the floor beneath his feet.

The irritation was rolling off Dean in waves; nothing bothered him more than damage to his beloved car.

"I apologize," Castiel said, "I will..." He began to reach for the stain, as if to 'mojo' it away, before pausing to inspect his grace.

His grace was quiet, a barely tangible thrum in the back of his mind. The parasite, the fledgling, was, thankfully, still for the time being. He felt, though significantly weaker than usual, okay.

Carefully, he probed at his grace, urging it forward to manage the stain under his feet. It obeyed his command, though the process took a good two or three seconds longer than usual. To an outsider, the delay would be barely noticeable; to Castiel, it was frightening.

Dean watched on, seeming surprised when the stain vanished. He squinted a moment before motioning Cas to get out of the car. "Thanks,” he nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the car as Cas tried to gather himself to move. “Sam went to get lunch and talk to some locals. I'm going to take you to get some stuff of your own,"

"We're in Lawrence?" Cas asked, surprise flitting across his features. He didn't think he had been away quite so long.

"Yeah," Dean nodded as Castiel climbed out of the car, stretching. He felt stiff, but thankfully the painkillers from this morning had taken the edge off his aches. "Just outside it, at least.”

Castiel nodded his understanding, glancing around. They were parked in a massive lot, a large store looming before them. Castiel didn't bother to notice the name, instead looking to Dean where he had fished a handful of money out of his pocket, and was now counting it out under his breath.

"Dean," Castiel stopped him with a hand on the hunters forearm. "That won't be necessary. I can afford my own expenses,"

"Yeah, well. We can get you better quality stuff if we pool our cash." Dean shrugged, shoving the bills in his pocket and giving Cas a once over. “Besides, I can hustle some cash tonight, no problem.”

Quickly, almost as if it was instinctual, Dean reached out and smoothed a hand over Castiel's hair, then tugged on his shirt in an attempt to pull out some of the creases. He seemed focused at first, before an odd expression crossed his face and he seemed to realize what he was doing. "Can at least try to make you look decent," Dean mumbled by way of explanation, and Castiel offered a small smile.

"Thank you, Dean."

“Don’t mention it.” Dean said, and Castiel was almost positive he meant it seriously.

Once Dean made sure the Impala was locked securely, and all weapons were hidden out of sight in the trunk, the two began to make their way across the parking lot. Dean walked at the same brisk pace as always, and Castiel found himself studying the motions.

The way Dean walked bled confidence and strength. He set his feet wide apart, bent slightly at each knee, and walked with a heavy footfall. He kept his head high, and his eyes roamed constantly across the scene before him; he was a soldier, if Castiel had ever seen one—but there was something gentle there too, in the cracks and indents around his mouth, that told of a man with a humorous disposition, and the way he nodded to strangers as he passed and smiled at children.

Castiel understood, when he truly watched Dean, why his father had chosen him as the Righteous Man.

“Pick up the pace, Cas—don’t want to spend any more time here then we have to,” Dean urged, glancing over his shoulder, and Castiel hurried to his side, realizing he had fallen behind. Dean gave him a strange look before shaking his head, and moving forward through automated doors.

Castiel was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the store, and the number of items on display around him. How could they ever find what he needed? It would take days to sort through all of this.

“Men’s department is in the back, but we’re gonna stop and get you a pair of good boots first,” Dean instructed, grabbing a cart and instructing Cas to push it and follow him. Castiel found the task helpful, as it gave him something to focus on as he followed Dean down the long open aisles, to the shoe department.

“Take your shoes off and sit down,” Dean instructed, pointing to a small silver bench. Castiel did as his charge told him, watching as Dean disappeared for a second before returning with an odd metal device.

“It’s a sizer—helps me figure out what size shoe you need,” Dean answered his confused expression, kneeling before him. Castiel felt something strange twist in his chest. At first he thought it might be the parasite - the fledgling - waking again, but then he realized it was something else; it was something different that was sparked by seeing Dean before him in such a way, hands carefully holding and maneuvering his feet against the metal sizer, expression focused.

It reminded him of the bible, when Jesus bowed before his disciples to wash their feet. It was an act of kindness, compassion, and teaching. It was intimate, and personal, and it made Castiel’s insides twist in a way he was unfamiliar with.

His heart, he realized, was racing.

Dean mumbled something under his breath, setting the sizer aside and disappearing once more. Castiel sat frozen on the bench, trying to sort out the mess inside him. He had always felt, in ways the other angels had not; granted it was a very diluted version of human emotion, the longer he spent around his charge, the stronger the emotions shone through—there were so many new ones, so many interesting combinations that he couldn’t ever hope to identify them all.

“Cas?” He looked up to see Dean had returned, a box in hand, his expression concerned. “You okay, buddy? You’ve been pretty spacy all morning,” 

“I’m alright,” Cas nodded slowly as Dean passed him the box, motioning him to try the shoes on. Castiel did so, feeling Dean’s eyes on him the whole time. They were a pair of tan work boots, sturdy and snug on his feet, but with just enough space for his toes to wiggle. 

“If you want to sit this hunt out, you can. I mean… You’ve got a lot going on, you know? Learning to be human ain’t an easy task.” 

“I’m not human.” Castiel sighed, allowing Dean to walk him in circles and examine the fit of the boots as they spoke.

“You will be, soon, Cas… Your mojo isn’t even close to what it was, and you’re sleeping and eating. It’s only going to go downhill,” Dean insisted, nodding that the boots were acceptable and putting them back in the box while Castiel slid back into Jimmy Novak’s dress shoes.

“That doesn’t mean I want to be coddled and soothed.” Castiel found a sudden bitterness rising in him. Everyone was so concerned with him, treating him like he was broken already—he wanted normality. “I want to move forward with whatever is left of my existence and try to make it worth something.”

“Whoa,” Dean frowned, setting the shoe box in the cart near them and putting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You’re becoming human, Cas, you aren’t dying—it’s going to be okay, alright? And if you think you can do the hunt, all the better. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like we were forcing you into anything,”

For the second time, Castiel wanted so badly to tell him.

Instead, he lowered his head, cheeks heating in shame at his outburst, and Dean gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before slapping him gently on the back. 

“Come on. Let’s get you your shit and get outta here,” Dean smiled, the event seemingly forgotten, and Castiel answered only with a weak smile as he followed Dean further into the store.

They left with several shirt and flannel combinations, two pairs of jeans, a belt, a dark colored coat, a package of boxer briefs (as Castiel found he preferred, after wearing Dean’s all day), a seven-pack of socks, a pair of boots, and a duffel bag to carry it all in.

When Castiel wondered aloud what he would wear to sleep in, Dean gave him an odd look.

“You can keep that to sleep in,” Dean said, motioning to the worn t-shirt Castiel had slept in the night before where it still hung slightly large on Castiel’s smaller frame.

Castiel remembered, as they were loading everything into the Impala, that it was Dean’s favorite shirt; he had heard his charge say so to Sam, once a few years ago. In fact, many of the nights Castiel had watched over Dean, the hunter had been wearing it to bed.

Castiel didn’t understand why the blood rushed to his cheeks, or why he smiled when Dean couldn’t see—and he didn’t bother to worry about it, either.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the Kudos! Sorry for the gap between updates-- work is a little crazy right now, and exams are coming up! Sorry that this story is such a slow burner, but we get a little glimpse at Cas and Dean's relationship here ;) Please leave comments letting me know what you think!

Lawrence turned out to be a rather quaint environment.

The city had a quiet but busy Midwestern buzz. It was odd, for Castiel, to consider that Dean and Sam hailed from such a serene setting; the boys had only ever known chaos. To think that, at least for Dean’s early formative years, they had toured these streets with John and Mary, that they had been just another family strolling along, was odd.

Dean, however, was the farthest from relaxed that Castiel had ever seen him.

They met Sam at the Eldrige Hotel downtown – Castiel asked Dean if he in fact had the correct address when they parked outside the establishment; the boys never spent their money on decent lodging – and he quickly ushered them up to a spacious room.

Castiel kept a careful hold of his new duffel, full of his new belongings, as he eyed the space. It was much more space than the boys were used to Castiel thought, and he could tell by Dean’s expression that he was right. The main room they entered had a sofa, a chair, and a small table, a counter to the right of the door with a fridge, microwave, and coffee maker. There was a set of double French doors, and another plain wooden door, to their right; bedroom and bathroom, Castiel assumed.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean frowned, dropping his bag on the couch. Castiel followed his example, setting his duffel carefully near the door and going to the window to examine the view of the street below.

“We’re technically at home for the weekend, Dean,” Sam sighed. “I figured we could take a break from the seedy motels,”

“How much is this costing us?” Dean worried.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam returned, and Castiel looked away from the window to watch the siblings size one and other up for a moment before Dean seemed to give in with a reluctant twitch of his lips.

“Fine,” He glowered, dropping down on to the couch. “Did you get anything from the locals?”

“Nothing worth looking into,” Sam suddenly grew alight, and Castiel came to stand near Dean. “But get this? I was looking into all of the dead couples, right? I found a connection,”

“Well?” Dean prompted, when Sam did not finish.

“They all were new residents in Lawrence— and they all bought houses from the same real-estate agency,”

“So, what? Maybe an agent got jealous of a coworker who was selling more houses, started killing their coworkers tenants?” Dean mused.

“No,” Sam shook his head. “All the spouses killed each other, that’s why I think this is something down our alley. Besides, they all had different realtors—just the same company.”

“Ok- _ay_ ,” Dean frowned, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “So we go to the most recent crime scene, check for sulfur, hex bags, the usual.”

“Can’t,” Sam countered.

“Of course not,” Dean sighed.

“It’s been almost two months since the last couple died. They had a hazmat and priest roll through the place to clean it out—it’s on the market, again.”

“It’s still worth taking a look at,” Castiel intoned, having listened quietly to the conversation until this point. Dean glanced at him, nodding, before looking back to Sam for an opinion.

“I’ll give you one better,” Sam said, pulling a stack of papers out of his bag and striding forward—and suddenly Castiel was aware of a stirring within his grace, the fledgling awaking. It gave a curious pulse, some sort of unintelligent greeting, or thought, and began to gnaw excitedly at the edges of his grace once more.

Whereas Castiel had felt relatively stable all morning, the sick feeling was now returned to him; he felt suddenly weak, his stomach turning in uneasy circles, new aches spreading through his body. His temples pounded, and he would have put his head in his hands and closed his eyes if it wasn’t for Dean’s sudden outburst—

“Absolutely not!”

Castiel looked up, realizing he had missed something vital as Dean was now on his feet, snatching the papers from Sam’s hands and pacing the room as he read them.

“Dean, it’s not a big deal—“

“We can pull off a credit card scam, Sam, but this is different!”

“What?” Cas didn’t mean to sound as weak as he did, but both boys threw him equally concerned looks before sharing a glance with one and other.

“Sammy wants us to buy the house, he emailed the real-estate company this afternoon—we are now apparently Dan Yancey and Charles Rochester, and we have a tour of our potential home friggin' tomorrow morning! What the hell, Sam!”

“We have to find a way to identify the killer,” Sam shrugged. “I’ve been running around asking questions all day, so his or her, or… It’s guard, will be up—but it didn’t see you and Cas. We can use you two as bait,” Sam explained his plan.

Castiel tried to pay attention, but his eyelids were drooping.

“You want Cas and I to masquerade as a couple, in a city where someone is making couples kill each other, in a house where one of said couples died?” Dean demands incredulously.

“It makes sense, Dean. And if you’re freaked out about the, uh… Gay, thing, I can play Cas’s boyfriend. I mean, it might scare whatever it is off since I was going around asking questions, but--”

“I don’t—I’m not—I don’t care about that! I’m confident in my sexuality, thanks,” Dean glared, heat rising to his cheeks as he crossed his arms. “I just don’t like the idea of being bated like that, especially with…”

Castiel didn’t have to look up to know Dean was looking at him in the silence.

Castiel felt the same repulsion and anger grip him as it had in the store, boiling dangerously in his cut. He was not helpless, as much as the Winchester’s wanted to believe. In fact, he was the farthest thing from—even with the fledgling slowly destroying his grace, he had quadruple a human’s strength or ability.

“It’s our best option. Anything else we do will scare the killer away,” Sam said after a moment, and Castiel stood. Both men turned to look at him as he headed towards the door, desperate to get rid of the acid boiling in his gut, and knowing just where to go to do so.  
“Cas?” Dean said, but by that time Castiel had already taken flight.

There was nothing pleasant in the task, as he had expected; instead, it was frightening, and his limited control over his flight path left him shaking and relieved when he finally landed on a narrow street in Finland, emptying the contents of his stomach on the pavement.

He stopped only long enough to spit, ridding his mouth of the bile taste, and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his coat before he turned and marched towards a familiar dwelling.

He didn’t bother knocking, instead forcing the door to Gabriel’s apartment open so hard the door nearly came off its hinges.

Gabriel sat calmly waiting for him, sucking quietly on a blue raspberry flavored candy.

“Why did you not tell me!” He demanded of the greater angel, the urge to fight, to force his anger upon someone, consuming him.

“Tell you what?” The archangel responded calmly, crushing the candy between his teeth with an audible crunch.

“It’s not a parasite! It’s a fledgling! They’ve placed a fledgling in my grace, and tasked it with devouring me alive!” Castiel’s voice rose and fell like an angry sea. Brief surprise flashed across Gabriel’s face.

“I didn’t think you would figure it out until much later.” He sighed, looking down at his hands. “In the past, when angels are punished like this… They usually can’t tell until the last week or two.”

“It reached out to me,” Castiel gritted out. “It wanted me to know it,”

“Typically we craft the fledglings out of grace, you understand,” Gabriel frowned. “When they are placed as a punishment… They are… Less predictable. There is nothing forming them, guiding them… They’re likely to seek a parental bond with their host. They do not know any better,”

“I don’t want you to explain the fledgling process, Gabriel!” Castiel barked. “I want to know _why this is happening to me!_ ”

Gabriel stared, saying nothing, and suddenly Castiel was furious.

“I rebelled, but I did what was right, I protected God’s favorite creations! I did everything in my power, and I loved them! And my love for him—them, it is my downfall! I expected to fall, to walk among the humans and die one! But instead He orders that I be tasked to watch the formation of my own replacement, to facilitate it! I don’t understand! I don’t understand why He would speak to Joshua about _me_ , of all of the angels! _I do not understand this, brother_!”

Gabriel is up, moving slowly towards Castiel, and suddenly the lesser angel was swaying on his feet, sinking to his knees. Gabriel is there with him, a steady boat, calm and warm, keeping him afloat in the turbulent waters of his despair.

If I feel this broken after only a few days, Castiel thinks, I will surely lose my mind before I die.

“You warrant His attention, Cassie,” Gabriel said after a long pause, his hands two strong points of contact supporting Cas from falling to the floor completely. “You… You’re the only one of us who did it right, who loved the humans… A human, like He did.”

“I don’t want to,” He rasped. “I want to be rid of all of these shackles… To go back to just… Being free,”

“You would hate it, having known what you know now,” Gabriel pointed out, and Castiel was oddly comforted as the archangel ran a soft hand over his back, a soothing, almost maternal contact. “You care for Dean, and I suppose Sam, and you would never be the same if you lost them… As for why He saddled you with a fledgling, I… I’m not sure. But there is always a purpose, and, eventually, you’ll understand.”

“I will die before I can understand it,” Castiel sighed, leaning his back against the couch near him. Gabriel copied his movement, the two angel’s shoulders barely touching.

Castiel felt strangely human, sitting beside Gabriel, listening to his brother’s breath in the quiet room. Of all his brothers and sisters, Gabriel was the only one with which he actually connected-- the only one who treated him as a sibling, in the traditional sense. He supposed, in an odd way, Gabriel was much like Dean in their sibling-ship, fierce and protective, whereas Castiel was more akin to Sam, quiet and pensive.

“Maybe,” Gabriel agreed, staring out a window opposite their position, disrupting Castiel’s thoughts. “Or… Maybe you won’t die.”  
“What makes you think so?” Castiel wondered.

“You Winchester’s have an odd way of surviving the unsurvivable,”

Castiel cocked his head curiously to the side.

“I am not a Winchester.”

“Maybe not by name,” Gabriel knocked his shoulder into Castiel’s with a small smile. “But definitely in spirit.”

Castiel smiled briefly, watching his hands in his lap. He turned them over, examining his palms, the creases and lines there, wondering of the men and women who claimed to read the length of life in those lines-- what would they see upon examining his?

“Is there another reason you’re here?” Gabriel piped up beside him and Castiel spared him a glance, shaking his head silently. “Because you’re not one to easily lose your cool, little brother.”

“Yes, well, I have… Snapped, at Dean more than once today. I am having a hard time controlling myself.”

“Does he know?” Gabriel asked.

“No.”

“When do you plan on telling him?”

“I will not, unless I have to.”

“What?” Gabriel demanded incredulously, eyebrows rising high above his eyes. “It’s quite possible you’ll just… Drop dead, Castiel. How do you think that will make him feel?”

_I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you two…_

“He is strong. He has lost many before me, all of whom were closer to him than I-- and he will have Sam to help him forward.” Castiel stated, ignoring Dean’s words as they floated through his head.

“I think you severely underestimate your importance to him, Castiel,” Gabriel frowned, watching his brother carefully. “I would dare say that your relationship with him is verging on something more than platonic,”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said, a strange tenseness to his voice.

“I may not have been actively participating in Heaven when you pulled him out of the pit, little brother, but I know that your relationship with Dean Winchester has never been anything less than _profound_.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel interrupted again, a sudden tired ache slipping into his voice. He could feel the fledgling gnawing away at his grace, but more prominently he could feel the hollow ache in his chest building-- an ache he had become accustomed to, over years of warring with his emotions. “I… Whatever it is that I… Feel, towards Dean Winchester… I have no way of identifying it, and I refuse to impose it upon him, especially when my time is fleeting… I do not wish to spend the last weeks of my existence arguing with Dean over petty emotions.”

“What if you asked him how he felt about you?”

“He is not a fan of ‘chick flick moments.’”

“Just ask him.” Gabriel sighed. “He may surprise you,”

Castiel thought briefly of those fleeting touches, the way Dean stared when he thought Castiel wasn’t watching-- he felt an odd, nervous energy building in him, and he reached out quietly to touch the link between his mind and Dean’s, their bond. He could feel Dean’s conscious there, humming anxiously; he was worried over something, stressed, but in no current danger.

It relaxed Castiel, and he could feel the fledgling’s consciousness following the path of his mind, examining the bond curiously but not touching it.

“Promise me something, brother?” Castiel said aloud, though his eyes were turned inward, watching the unintelligent fledgling try to decipher the bond between the angel and his human.

“What?” Gabriel replied.

“When I am gone, you will help the fledgling to find a vessel. You will protect it from Heaven, and you will not allow it to become a submissive creature like you and I once were… And you will protect the Winchesters.”

“Sure,” Gabriel smiled, pausing before adding “Always wanted to try my hand at parenting.”

“You would be good at it,” Castiel smiled faintly, casting a sideways glance at his brother, barely catching his surprised expression. “I remember you as a kind and intelligent influence upon my formative years,”

“Didn’t think you even remembered that far back,” Gabriel snorted, but his smile was broad.

“Only glimpses.” Castiel shrugged.

The two sat for a long time in content silence after that, occasionally speaking in hushed tones about their respective lives. Castiel alternated his attention between Gabriel, and the fledgling, who seemed to bask in his attentions, ceasing in its devouring of his grace to twine its consciousness with Castiel’s, eager to share it’s fleeting and unintelligent memories of sound and shape. It reminded Castiel very much of an infant, and again he felt the hollow pang of emptiness that came with knowing he would never live to see the being form entirely. 

It was mid-morning in Finland when Gabriel urged Castiel to return to the Winchester’s, slipping a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled series of numbers into Castiel’s palm, warning him that “Flying isn’t doing you any good anymore-- next time you need me, call, and I’ll come to you.” Castiel left feeling much more calm and perhaps even somewhat content with his demise, knowing Gabriel had agreed to protect the fledgling and the Winchesters. 

He landed gracelessly in the hall of the Eldridge Hotel, his stomach flopping uneasily, but he did not vomit as he had earlier, instead sporting a nose bleed which he quickly wiped away on his sleeve. He sighed quietly, expelling just enough grace to unlock the door to the room, knowing good and well he shouldn’t be wasting precious grace on such menial tasks but caring little.

He slipped quietly into the room, closing the door with a soft click.

The only sounds in the room were the soft hum of an air conditioner and Sam’s snoring. Castiel could faintly make out the shape of the taller man in one of the two beds on the other side of the French doors, but the other sat empty. He frowned, wondering where Dean was, before a sound drew his attention to the bathroom, where the door opened and Dean slipped out, in his usual sleep attire but looking as if he had yet to actually lie down for the night.

Dean didn’t notice him at first, but when he did he jumped, reaching for a weapon, before Castiel quickly declared himself.

Dean squinted in the darkened room, examining him, before moving forward and pushing a finger forcefully into Castiel’s chest, demanding in a hushed whisper “What the hell, man?”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to be gone quite so long.”

“ _Quite so long_? Dude, you winged out of here at four in the afternoon! It’s three in the morning!”

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Castiel countered. Even in the dark, he could see the way Dean’s cheeks heated.

“I had a lot on my mind. Couldn’t sleep,”

“You were waiting up for me,” Castiel realized, his brows furrowing as he examined Dean’s face in the limited light. 

“So what if I was?” Dean glared. “We’re on a hunt, man. You can’t just bail out whenever you feel like it, especially if you’re playing human,”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Where’d you go, anyways?”

“Finland,”

“Finland?” Dean repeated dumbly.

“Gabriel resides there,”

“Ah, great,” Dean rolled his eyes, and they both went silent for a moment as Sam grunted and rolled in his sleep before settling once more. “How’s the trickster doing? I hear pretending to be dead takes a lot out of a guy,”

“Dean,” The forcefulness of his own voice surprised Castiel. “He’s my brother, just like Sam is yours. He did what he felt he had to do. Please refrain from acting that way towards him.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean frowned, raising his hands in a clear sign of surrender. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know you and he had suddenly become so close,”

“We have. We are.” Castiel said testily.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, reaching out a hand to give Castiel’s shoulder a gentle squeeze; the simple action seemed to drain all of the tension out of the angel’s body, and he was suddenly aware of how exhausted he was.

“Okay,” Dean repeated. “You want to take a shower, get in bed? We got an early morning tomorrow-- Sam got us a showing of the house at eight. No reason to stand around and argue.”

“We aren’t arguing,” Castiel mumbled, but nodded. “But yes, rest sounds nice. I will shower in the morning if that’s alright,”

“‘Course. Whatever you want to do man,” He shrugged, turning and making his way across the room and climbing in bed. Castiel slowly removed his clothing until he was in nothing but his underwear and shirt, just as he had been the previous night. He put the clothes beside his duffel and sat on the edge of the couch, suppressing a yawn, when Dean’s voice sounded from across the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Lying down,” Castiel answered in confusion, glancing over his shoulder. Dean shook his head, lifting the blankets and motioning Cas over.

“Not over there, dude-- you’ll have back issues for weeks. Plenty of room for two of us,”

Castiel padded silently over, lying on his side and tucking his arm under a pillow. He faced Dean, expecting the hunter to roll over and face the wall as he had the previous night.

Dean did no such thing, instead closing his eyes and stretching out in the narrow space until his knee bumped Cas’s and he drew it back just a tad with a mumbled apology. Castiel closed his eyes, listening to the hunter’s breathing and allowing its steady rhythm to lull him to sleep. 

In his dreams, he sat quietly inside the library of his mind, watching the bond between he and Dean shimmer quietly, like a golden string; beautiful and unbreakable. And when the fledgling curled up at his feet to watch with him, he did nothing to stop it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can feel the destiel coming-- not much longer now ;)

It was a small house, at the very edge of Lawrence. In fact, the house sat just a few miles off Highway 10, and it would have been a quick drive over to the next city, Lenexa. There wasn't a neighbor that could be considered in close proximity, and the house was set back from the road, partially obscured by a line of trees. 

Dean commented that it was an easy house to target, with its decent level of seclusion.

Castiel replied that it seemed like a nice home.

In fact, Castiel had been exuding nothing but positivism since he awoke that morning, rejuvenated and feeling, for the most part, very well. He could still feel the fledgling eating away at his grace, its appetite ever growing, but somehow it seemed… Dulled. His symptoms weren't as severe, the nausea gone completely, and he was dressed freshly in a pair of his own jeans, and his very own gray T-shirt. 

Dean, on the other hand, was being troublesome. All morning he had complained, snapping twice at Sam over petty things and ignoring Castiel when he asked what was wrong. He had practically stormed out to the car, blasting the horn when Castiel didn't follow him quickly enough. Driving seemed to somewhat quell his ill temper, and Castiel chose to let him simmer so that they might better focus on the hunt. 

“I think we beat the agent,” Dean announced as they came to a stop out front of the home. Dean killed the engine, dousing them in sounds of a Kansas summer.  
It was the end of August, the last of the summer heat lingering, and Castiel missed the battering wind now that they had come to a stop. Since he had ‘gone nuclear’ earlier in the week, they had not had the chance to stop and take care of the Impala. The windows were still missing, and as such the lazy warmth of the morning was able to slip in, curling in tendrils over Castiel’s exposed arms and promising a blistering day to come. He could hear the soft chirp of birds, the buzzing of insects, and a soft breeze through the limited trees on the property; mostly they were fields, around here. 

Castiel said nothing. 

Dean, seeming irritated with the silence, exhaled loudly and stepped out of the car, closing the door with excess force behind himself. Castiel watched him pace a moment before leaning against the hood, arms crossed over his chest. The angel let him stay this way for a few minutes before he, too, exited the car and came to lean against the hood at his hunters side. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Castiel asked after a moment, fully expecting a ‘Fuck you, Cas!’ to be shot his way.

“It doesn't matter. Won't help.” Dean gruffed, surprising him.

“How would you know unless you tried? I don’t want to have a… ‘Chick-flick moment,’ but it’s better than dealing with you in this mood the rest of the day,”  
Dean glanced at him, fleetingly, but Castiel swore he saw the touch of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

“It's just this town, Cas… Brings back bad memories. Shit I don't want to think about, you know?”

“Your mom.”

“Yeah. My mom.” 

“Dean, I-”

“I always feel… Dirty, when we visit.” Dean interrupted, staring at the house in front of them. “Like I need to get in the shower and never come out. Mom tried to build something here, tried to give me and Sammy a good life… Feels like coming back here just ain't right, like it's tarnishing her memory, what with how screwed up we are and everything.”

Castiel considered him a moment before reaching out a tentative hand, laying it against Dean's knee. 

“Your mother would be proud of you, Dean.” 

It's all he can think to say-- a bandaid that isn't nearly large enough to heal such a wide wound.

Dean was quiet a moment, glancing at Cas’s hand on his knee, before sighing. “Yeah, well,” he ran a hand through his hair. “That's enough of that… Think I'm coming down with a cold or something, man. My heads all fuzzy and I think I'm gonna hurl. Probably why I've been such a bitch this morning,”

“What’s your excuse for the rest of the time?” Castiel joked, wanting to see the smile return to Dean's face; he was rewarded with a laugh as Dean stood, Castiel’s hand sliding off his knee to rest on the hood of the Impala.

“Dude, your comedy skills are improving,” He chuckled, and both their heads turned at the sound of a car coming up the drive. 

It was a large SUV, which parked parallel from them. There was a pause, and then a woman came clambering out, a coffee stain on the bottom of her blouse which she hurriedly tucked into her dress slacks before diving back inside her car to retrieve a folder before slamming the door and rushing over to them, nearly tripping.

Dean and Cas exchanged a glance.

“Gentlemen, I'm so sorry I'm late!” She exclaimed, holding out a hand which they each politely shook. “My name is Barbara Eldwood, but you can just call me Barb! My one year old has been up all night with a virus, so forgive me if I seem a bit frazzled,”

“I understand how that is,” Dean snorted, and Castiel and Barb both raise an eyebrow. Dean blushed. “I, uh… I helped raise my little brother. He was up all night when he was sick at that age,”

“Oh, yes, then I’m sure you understand,” She smiles warmly at him, and Castiel shoved his hands in his pockets, watching as Dean turned on his charms. “I really do apologize, I know it hardly seems professional,”

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Dean comforted. “Gave us a chance to look around. Besides, we tend to be a little late ourselves,”

Barb smiled at him, and Castiel was once again fascinated by how easily Dean Winchester - a trained killer - could put someone at ease.

“Well, wonderful. Have you enjoyed what you’ve seen so far?” She asked, opening her folder and skimming over the information inside. Castiel stood, moving away from the Impala to get a closer look at the house as Dean (or Dan, as Castiel heard Dean introduce himself to her) and Barb chat. 

It’s a sturdy building, almost atypical for a farmhouse. It’s painted white, with tin roofing and a wrap-around porch; it’s sole splash of color is the front door, with six panes of glass looking into the front of the house, painted a vibrant shade of red. It’s been well taken care of, Castiel can tell just by looking, but its vacancy has left behind a poorly maintained garden of dead flowers on either side of the steps leading on to the porch.

“Isn’t that right, Charles?” 

It takes Dean touching his arm for Castiel to realize he’s being spoken to.

“What?” He replied, having the decency to blush.

“Sorry, he has a world inside his head, this one,” Dean chuckled, eyes on Barb, and Castiel stiffened as the hunter’s arm slid effortlessly around his waist. “I was just saying, Charles, that we were trying to get moved in as soon as possible, so that you can have your office back.”

“Oh, yes,” Castiel recalled their brief discussion that morning concerning their identities. Charles Rochester was a private tutor, who ran lessons out of home. His partner, Dan Yancey, was a mechanic who had sold his shop so they could move back to Dan’s hometown in Kansas. “Yes, it will be nice to start tutoring again,” He said, trying not to sound as disinterested or uncomfortable as he felt.

Dean pinched his hip, sending him a sideways glance.

“Ah, well, Mr. Rochester, with the university in town, I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding students who are looking for help!” Barb smiled, seeming not to have noticed their exchange as she led them towards the house. Dean released his waist the minute Barb had turned, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘well that was believable, jackass’ as they followed the real estate agent up the steps.

There was a swing on their right, and Castiel wanted to sit in it-- instead, he followed Dean and Barb into the foyer. To their right was a dining room and kitchen, straight ahead the living room, and to the left a small half bathroom tucked under a set of stairs. 

Dean went for the living room, Cas ascended the stairs; Barb stood at the door, letting them go.

Upstairs was a narrow hallway, one door on the left, another on the right. The left, he found, was the master bedroom; a large space, with an equally large closet and bathroom. The one on the right was a much smaller bedroom, again with its own bathroom. He was examining the view out the windows of the second bedroom, onto an empty field in the back, when he heard Dean shout from down stairs. 

“Ca-Charles!”

He took the stairs down two at a time to find Dean standing at the bottom with a wide grin.

“Dude,” He said, taking Castiel by the wrist, and dragging him through the living room and to the right-- into a very large kitchen, with stainless steel appliances and a small island harboring a sink.

“Isn’t this kitchen awesome? I can do some serious cooking in here,” 

Castiel stared, his momentary panic at Dean's shouting dying away, replaced with surprise to see that Dean was actually _enjoying_ the house.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” He found himself smiling a little, Dean’s sudden change in mood bringing his own good mood higher. 

“And there’s a patio, we could use Bobby’s old grill-- I make a _mean_ hamburger, dude, and you _know_ it.”

“Whatever you’d like,” Castiel nodded, consenting to whatever Dean wished. Dean grinned, eyes flashing gold in the light from the windows which Castiel had only just now noticed lining the back wall of the house, looking out on a screened portion of the porch and, furthermore, the empty field behind the house.

That odd feeling twisted in his gut again, the same one that had risen when Dean was kneeling before him in the store, and he looked quickly away.

“How’s the upstairs? Bedrooms nice?” Dean wondered, turning away from him suddenly to walk to the door leading from the kitchen on to the porch, opening and closing it experimentally.

“Yes, very spacious.” Castiel nodded, and Dean mused for a second.

“Alright,” he nodded, and then, louder, “ _Barb_! Where do we sign?”

________

It’s nearly the end of September before they move in, and they’ve moved to a less expensive motel so as to save money to buy basic necessities for a house.

On move in day they’ve acquired a table, three mismatched chairs, a worn couch, a few lamps, and a used computer all from the same second-hand furniture store. They also carry a brand new king sized mattress with blankets and pillows to boot up the stairs, the only items which Dean had insisted they buy fresh off the shelf. The mattress lays in the center of the master bedroom, messily made, while Dean and Cas unpack their limited belongings on their respective sides of the closet. Castiel’s things are meticulously hung and ordered, while Dean’s are thrown haphazardly inside.

Luckily, most of the appliances came with the house, saving them a good deal in expenses. They fill the cabinets and the fridge with groceries, and Sam even goes as far as to buy a bottle of wine (“Can’t let my big brother buy his first house without giving him a proper house-warming gift!”) and three wine glasses. 

Dean refuses to touch the wine, instead cradling a beer as he and Sam stand on the porch and watch the sunset; Castiel can hear their hushed voices through the open back door, drifting in on the wind.

Castiel stands in the kitchen, leaning against the island, watching.

In the past month since they had signed the contract, his grace had begun to evaporate at an alarming speed. He was sure he would last at least another month, perhaps two, but beyond that he had no hope. The fledgling was hungrier than ever, almost never ceasing in its consumption, except for at night, when Castiel slept; it would join him then, their consciousness's curling together, where it would probe curiously at him, and Castiel could never deny it the attention it craved. It was innocent, he had decided, simply doing as it must to survive; Castiel could not treat something so pure and curious with cruelty.

Gabriel had been helping him search for a cure, but the outcome looked bleak. The fledgling needed grace to survive and, short of exposing himself to the fledgling as a food source, Gabriel could do nothing. 

And they had tried exposing the fledgling to his grace, sure that it would merely drain half of both of their graces’s and be satisfied, leaving them both weak but alive, but the fledgling showed no interest in Gabriel’s grace. In fact, it had been climbing desperately away from it, hiding inside of Castiel’s, frightened and shaking until Castiel soothed it.

Gabriel had begged him to tell Dean, after that. “You’re moving in with the guy, Cas! He’s gonna know something’s up, if he doesn’t already!” he had yelled, and Castiel had simply refused to hear him, pushing the archangel out the door of the motel before the boys could return from a night hustling pool at a nearby dive.

“Well, I think I’m gonna head back to the motel,” Sam announced, shaking Castiel from his thoughts as the two returned from the screen porch, Sam setting his empty wine glass in the sink and smiling at Castiel. The angel returned the expression, he and Dean following Sam to the door. 

“You sure you don’t want to stay the night, Sammy? There’s an extra bedroom,”

“Yeah, with no bed,” Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “No. The less I’m here, the better-- whatever it is killing these couples could be watching you two already. You two need to rest anyways,”

“We can do that with you here,” Dean frowned, and Castiel knew the older hunter was having anxiety about leaving Sam alone.

“Really, Dean. Go to bed-- you, too, Cas. I’ll call you guys in the morning,” He smiled, and Dean grabbed him in a tight hug. The two clasped each other tightly for a moment before Dean pat Sam’s back, and they parted, Sam offering a wave of goodbye to Castiel before moving out the door, down the steps, and getting into his newly purchased pick-up truck. Dean stood in the front window, watching until Sam was well on his way, while Castiel went about locking the house down for the night.

It was strictly human locks, for now. No salt, no sigils; as bait, they had to act helpless. 

That didn’t mean there wasn’t a devil trap hidden under the rugs at each door.

Castiel ached as he moved, drawing curtains, checking locks, thoughts miles away; the fledgling was stirring inside him, throwing a wall of unformed thought at him, bits of sound and conversation it had heard through Castiel’s grace.

“You want first shower?” Castiel jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice, not realizing the hunter had left the front window.

“You can have one first,” Castiel allowed, turning away from the locks, satisfied the house was sealed for the night before turning on the AC. They had agreed to run the system only at night, leaving the windows open during the day to save money.

Dean showers quickly, and Castiel does the same, dressing in his usual underwear and T-shirt combo for bed, hair still wet when he enters the bedroom. Dean is sitting in bed staring down at his phone. He doesn't look up when Cas lays down opposite him, huddling under the blankets and tucking his arm under the pillow, facing Dean as his eyes close.

After nearly a month sharing a bed, they've developed a routine. Castiel often falls asleep long before Dean, who will sit on his phone for awhile before bed, more often than not reading newspapers from across the United States. He’s always very aware of Castiel, very courteous, which is why it surprises him when Dean sighs heavily and demands in a tense voice “You want to start talking, now that Sam's gone?”

Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean watching him, phone lying on the blankets between them.

“About what?” He blinked

“Everything, Cas,” Dean crossed his arms. “You've been acting weird for a month, but you don't open up to me unless it's just us. And I haven't had a second to get you alone since we got here. So now that I have you-- what's going on?”

Castiel swallows, realizing Dean had seen right through him since day one.

“It's nothing, Dean.”

“It's something, Cas,” Dean growls, and Castiel sits up, exhaustion pushed aside in favor of his nerves. “Last time you were acting like this, you were going behind me and Sammy's backs, and things got hairy.”

“What is happening to me is nothing to concern you or Sam,” Castiel tried to explain, but Dean gave him a withering look that quickly silenced him.

“Cas, in case you haven't noticed, everything you do concerns me. We live together, we work together, hell we share a bed. If something's wrong, I need to know.”

“It's.. Complicated,” Castiel admitted after a long pause.

“Is it about the becoming human thing? I told you, Cas, I'm here for whatever--”

“I'm not becoming human, Dean, I'm dying.”

The words were out, and Castiel waited patiently for Dean to process them. He saw many emotions cross Dean's face, anger, betrayal, confusion, despair-- until it settled into a mask of grim determination.

“Explain.”

And Castiel did. He told him of his discussion with Joshua that had led to him obliterating a forest, of his meetings with Gabriel (leaving out their discussion of his feelings for Dean), of the fledgling and its curious nature, and of how he wanted to keep it all from Dean, only to keep from worrying him.

The last part seemed to bother Dean the most, the corner of his mouth twitching at the words.

“I.. I'm afraid I'll be gone by October, November at the absolute latest.”

“There's nothing you can do? I mean… If the thing eats grace, can't you just feed it someone else's?”

“The fledgling,” Castiel corrected. “And I tried… We exposed it to Gabriel's grace, but it fled. It was terrified.”

Dean watched him, shaking his head slowly. “No. I won't just… Let you go like this,” He said.

“You don’t have a choice, Dean… You won't be alone, though, the fledgling will act in my place. You will still have an angel with you,” Castiel tried to comfort and Dean shot him a dangerous look.

“I don't want the fledgling, Cas, I want you.. I-I need you, you're..” Dean seemed at a loss for words and Castiel saw true panic in the hunter's face, almost as if he had been informed that Sam had once more agreed to be the vessel of Lucifer. It worried him that Gabriel may be right-- Dean may not be prepared for this.

“Dean,” he reached out a careful hand, resting it on Dean's knee. The hunter looked at it, eyes green and sad in the dim light of the bedside lamp. “I have accepted my fate, I have no fear.. You will be fine without me.”

“Why would you say that?” Dean demands, turning to him, a sudden fire in his eyes. Castiel blanches. “Dammit, you-you’re… You and Sam are the two most important people in my life! Without you Cas, I.. I'm losing half of myself, okay? I don’t know how else to explain this to you, but losing you is not alright.”

“I… Didn't think you would care,” Castiel admitted in barely a whisper, and suddenly Dean had found his hand, callused fingers curling over Castiel’s where they're splayed out against the hunter’s knee, his eyes examining Castiel’s face with a feverish light to their depths.

Dean squeezed his fingers for a long time before rolling away quite suddenly, turning out the light without a word and plunging the room into darkness, barely lit by a partial moon outside the window. Castiel feels disappointment sinking low in his gut, unsure what the conclusion of their argument means, when suddenly he feels hands in his still-damp hair.

It's too dark to make out much, but he can feel Dean sliding closer to him on the mattress, fingers petting through his hair, pulling and shifting him-- until his head was on Dean's shoulder, and Dean's scent drowned him; pine-scented soap, leather, and something just… Dean. 

The last time he was this close to the hunter, he had been cradling his soul in his hands, carefully mending the pieces back together. 

“I can't lose you,” Dean says somewhere near his ear, and Castiel realized why the lights were out; Dean was afraid.

For a month, the bed they shared had been their safety net. Whether it was the Queen at the Eldrige, or the cramped Full-Size at the Motel, it was space they shared. It was somewhere that, once the lights went out, their inhibitions and insecurities seemed to bleed away into the night. Dean was more bold with his touches, sometimes curling an arm around Castiel and falling contently to sleep; other times they would both lie on their sides, faces inches apart, talking.

Dean felt safe in the dark.

Castiel never pushed for anything more, once they left bed, too afraid of rejection.

“Can't lose you,” Dean said again, softer, the familiar tone of vulnerability slipping into his words. “I can't believe you think I wouldn't care… Guess I'm just shit at showing how I feel, sometimes,”

Castiel doesn't say anything, instead closing his eyes.

He’ll survive one more day; they can wait one day to talk about the complex mess of a relationship they share, but for now he likes where they are.

“Why aren't you scared, or mad? It’s not like you to just… Give up, Cas.” Dean asks, and Castiel shrugs gently, blankets slipping from his shoulder. Dean retrieves them, drawing them back over their bodies, his hand settling against the back of Castiel’s neck. He drags his nails gently through the short hairs there, over the skin, and it sends a prickling sensation across Castiel’s skin that is decidedly pleasant. 

“It isn't the fledglings fault,” He said after a pause, words muffled into Dean's shoulder. “It is simply trying to survive… It's actually quite friendly,”

Dean snorted, a quiet sound, shifting against Castiel, chin resting atop the angel's head now. “Sounds like you like the little tick,”

“I do.” Castiel admitted for the first time out loud, sleep tugging at him. He was warm, and comfortable, and the sound of Dean’s breath so close to his ear was lulling him to sleep. 

“It's killing you,”

“Not right now,” Castiel hushed, shaking his head. He didn't want to think about it, just for right now; he just wanted to exist, to live in this moment.

“Okay,” Dean said, and Castiel could hear the soft, upset smile in his voice. It was there in the edge to his words, rumbling through his chest, and his arm twitched where it was snaked awkwardly behind Castiel’s neck.

This was his favorite moment in all his long years, Castiel decided, and he held on to the memory, tucking it carefully away in the library of his mind. “You're exhausted.” Dean's voice was almost too loud when he spoke a few minutes later. Castiel had been staring absently at his profile where the the moonlight allowed him to just barely make out the hunter’s shape. “Go to sleep.”

Castiel wanted to protest, but he didn't. Instead he closed his eyes and fell asleep, safely tucked against the hunter’s side, giving way to his dreams.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, here, but with major plot development. Enjoy!

In the last week, Castiel’s dreams had become increasingly unpleasant. Every time he laid down for the night, he grew to dread what he would see. Often, he was lost somewhere dark, panicked and reaching out for his bond with Dean, or the fledgling-- he could find neither, instead running and searching for them all night, afraid he had lost them both. 

Some nights, he would sleep uneasily through the event. Most nights, however, he awoke in a sweat, twisted in the blankets as Dean blinked bleary eyes at him in the dark and asked what was wrong. 

He didn't know what to make of it, but it was taking its toll. He had rolled out of bed long before Dean that morning, sometime around four, and was now cradling his second cup of tea (he could tolerate coffee, but he didn't prefer it) this morning. It was close to seven now, the sun rising lazily over the field behind the house, the first chilly signs of fall hanging in the air.

Castiel sat idly on the screen porch, watching. He was all but human, now, the fledglings appetite nearly doubled as of late, very little of his grace left. The symptoms, still, were not as bad as they had been at first, not since the day they toured the house, but now he needed sleep, and food, and air-- and as deprived of the first as he was, it was presenting itself. He had a nearly unshakeable headache, his mind was clouded, and every part of him ached. 

“Hey,” Dean's voice gathered his attention and he glanced at the hunter as he sat in the chair beside him, coffee mug in hand. His hair was still mused from sleep, clothes rumpled and feet bare. “How long have you been up?’

“A few hours,” he replied honestly. 

“Nightmares again?”

“Yes,” 

“Should have woken me up,” Dean said before taking a long sip of his coffee. Castiel wanted to reach out and touch him, just once, but he didn't dare; they hadn't discussed anything relative to, well… Them since that night, and Castiel did not want to be the one to initiate the conversation. 

“You were exhausted. You needed to rest,” Castiel returned, watching the hunter-- Dean had been fighting off a cold or something of the sorts for awhile now. He looked terrible most days, with red eyes and a nasally voice. He often complained of headaches that made him sensitive to light, and yesterday he had rushed into the bathroom while Castiel was showering to vomit. 

Needless to say, crouching nude and dripping wet beside your vomiting charge and trying to comfort him was the least comfortable thing that Castiel had ever done. 

“It's just the Flu, Cas. I'll be over it in a few days,” 

“If you rest,” Castiel added, which Dean had not been. In fact, he had been wearing himself thin.  
Unsure how long this hunt may take, and wanting to further bait the creature or witch by making their presence known in the community, Dean had taken up a job at a mechanics shop. It helped to pay their bills, but he worked long hours, often gone by sunrise and not returning until dinner. He would shovel down a quick meal and have a shower, but after getting in bed he would stay up for hours, reading through lore while Castiel dipped in and out of sleep at his side, the hunter desperate to find a cure to the ailments plaguing the barely-powered angel. 

Today was his day off thankfully, and he and Castiel had agreed to go into town for groceries-- but Castiel had half a mind to leave him home and force him to rest.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Dean grumbled into his coffee, and Castiel frowned at him, but said nothing more as he looked back at the field laid out in front of them. 

“How you, uh… How ya feeling today?” Dean asked cautiously after a moment, and Castiel shrugged, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his mug atop his knees.

“I think I need to contact Gabriel,” He admitted, looking anywhere but at Dean. “We thought I would have much longer, but the fledgling is… Hungry. Much hungrier than I thought.”

“What’s that mean?” He could Dean stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

“It means that my grace is failing me much faster than I thought it would, Dean,” He sighed, “At this point… It could be a matter of weeks, perhaps even days. It depends on whether or not its appetite increases again,”

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean sighed, a heavy sound. “I wish you would let me tell Sam, he can get in contact with someone, get information--”

“We’re still on a hunt, Dean.” Castiel reminded him, final turning to examine his companion. “You are the one who agreed we should limit our contact with Sam if we want to raise our chances of being targeted,”

“Yeah, well, I’m changing my mind,” Dean scowled. “Cas, you’re not invincible anymore… If something comes after us, you’re as good as dead. You're a good fighter, man, but… You haven’t ever had to fight without your mojo,”

“I have told you many times,” Castiel barely tempered his frustration. “I am not helpless.”

“I know,” Dean deflated, seeming to realize he’d struck a nerve. “I know, man, sorry, I just… I’m sitting here watching you rot-- and it’s not a good feeling, you know?”

“I know,” Castiel sighed. “I know,”

They don’t say much the rest of the morning.

They both get dressed, Dean in a casual red flannel and Castiel in a sweater Dean had bought him one night after work, annoyed with Castiel’s constant complaints of being chilled. Castiel makes a grocery list, and Dean sits on the used desktop computer, complaining about the internet speed while he again researched lore on Castiel’s situation. 

Castiel considered calling Gabriel, if only to have someone in the house who wasn’t constantly asking how he felt, but decided to wait until Dean was asleep that night. Gabriel and Dean were hardly friendly, though he was sure the two could be civil if need be, but he would rather not put them together unless he had to.

“Do you want anything from the store?” Castiel asks, leaning against the kitchen door-frame to watch Dean where he’s leaning towards the computer screen in the living room.

“Huh?” The hunter blinks, eyes glazed, and turns to Castiel. The angel frowned, seeing the heavy bags underneath his gaze, the tight knots of his shoulders-- this was really worrying Dean.

“I’m going to the store,” He rephrases. “Would you like to come?”

“Sure,” Dean’s smile is nice to see.

They drove with the newly-replaced windows rolled down in the Impala, the breeze just cool enough to make Castiel shiver in his sweater. Dean chattered the entire way there, discussing the lore he’s been pouring over, something about fledglings being very perceptive to the emotions of other angels.

“Maybe it ran away from Gabe cause the dude hates it,”

“Gabriel does not--”

“The thing is eating you from the inside out, Cas,” Dean scoffed, interrupting him. “Gabriel may not show it, but he probably wants to squash the damn thing under his boot,”

Castiel shifts in his seat, feeling the fledgling squirming uneasily in his grace, as if sensing the hostility in Dean’s tone.

“And you?” Castiel demands.

“Me?” Dean echoes dumbly.

“What do you think of it?”

“Well, I mean… It’s a baby, I guess, and like you said the other night, it doesn’t really know what it’s doing… I guess I don’t hate it, I hate what it’s doing to you.”

Castiel nods, content with this answer, and he feels the fledgling probing curiously at his consciousness, eager to understand and participate. 

They say nothing as they enter the grocery store, Castiel leading the way while Dean followed behind with a cart. The hunter seemed uninterested with the situation, examining labels as Castiel shopped, until he suddenly grabbed Castiel by the waist and yanked him sideways down an aisle.

Castiel yelped his surprise, prepared to complain before Dean stated a bit too loudly. “I don’t know, _Charles_ , does it matter which one we get?”

Castiel arched a brow, and Dean’s eyes darted left just as a cheerful voice exclaimed “Dan? Charles? It’s Barb!” 

Castiel cringed.

“Barb?” Dean feigned surprise, arm slipping from Castiel’s waist as he turned to greet their real estate agent. She looked much more casual in a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt, hair toppled in a messy bun atop her head. 

“Hey,” She beamed at Dean and Castiel felt the ugly pull of emotion in his gut-- one he easily identified as jealousy. Surprising himself, he stepped forward, sliding his hand into Dean’s, the hunter’s hand callused and rough against his palm.

“Hello, Barbara,” He greeted coolly, and Dean shot him a surprised look, fingers twitching in Castiel’s too-tight grip.

“Charles,” She greeted, her smile dimmed somewhat at Castiel’s tone. “How are you two, settling in I hope? Dan, I heard you were working at the garage downtown,”

“Yeah. Great place,” Dean nodded, relaxing, squeezing Castiel’s hand gently, a silent signal to ‘cool it.’

“It is, best service in town,” She smiled, leaning against her cart, subtly drawing attention to her chest. Castiel gripped the handle of their own cart, and he could feel the plastic warp under his fingers; the fledgling was dancing curiously in him, examining his jealousy curiously-- it had never seen Castiel’s grace dyed such an ugly shade of purple.

“Charles, how’s tutoring? Any clients yet?” She asked, her eyes darting between Castiel and Dean.

“No, I’ve been… Ill.” He chose his words carefully, trying not to spit them at her. 

He wasn’t sure where this jealousy was coming from. Dean was not his, by any means; yes, the two shared a bond, and yes, Dean had seemed to be more affectionate than usual, but it meant nothing. They were two different entities, stars in entirely different galaxies, never meant to collide on the same plain.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Barb frowned. “Dan, you don’t look too hot yourself.”

“Yeah, we tend to swap germs,” Dean chuckled, playing along. “I think the stress of the move just took it out of us, you know? Plus, a new place means no germs, and all that jazz,”

“Oh, of course,” Barb grinned, and Castiel looked at his feet, focusing on not breaking Dean’s fingers on accident. “How’s the house treating you all?”

“Great, we love it-- that master bath is great. You can fit two people in that tub easily, if you catch my drift,” Castiel glanced up in just enough time to catch Dean’s wink, and the twitch in the corner of Barb’s mouth.

“Well, I’m so glad you all are enjoying it. I won’t keep you any longer,” She stood straight again, smile a little less sincere. “Nice seeing you all,” She said as she wheeled away with her cart. 

“See you around!” Dean called after her, watching her disappear a few aisles later before turning to Cas, his expression pained.

“Cas.” He flinched. “Buddy, I need my fingers,”

Castiel released his hold, color flushing his cheeks. 

“I apologize,” He said, quickly turning, heading further down the aisle. He heard Dean mummble a curse under his breath, then the sound of him hurrying to catch up with the cart.

“Cas,” He stopped him with a hand on his arm before he could step into the main aisle, a frown on his face. “Hey,”

“What?” Castiel asked, no hostility to his tone; there was nothing but embarrassment, and a silent plea for forgiveness.

“Look, I know this ain't gonna mean much right now, but…” He glanced quickly around, looking for wandering eyes, before leaning closer. “I’m not… Actively pursuing the market, you understand?”

“I don’t,” Castiel frowned.

“I…” His cheeks heated, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “You and me, what, uh… What we’re doing right now, it’s uh… I’m not really interested in anything else right now.”

Castiel stared at him blankly, trying to comprehend. 

“This,” Dean hissed, growing frustrated with his silence, pointing between the two of them. “You and me. It’s not exactly… Friendly, anymore. ‘S a little more. Well… Least, it is for me. I don’t know about you,” 

Castiel couldn’t help himself; he laughed. He laughed, for the first time in weeks, the sound bubbling its way past his defenses and surprising him. It was a short sound, but a happy one.

Dean went red, leaning away from him. “Y’know what, forget I even said anything, just--”

“Dean,” Castiel grabbed his arm gently, stopping him. Dean looked somewhere between mortified and furious, his cheeks and the tips of his ears dyed red. “I’m not laughing at you,”

“Well then why the hell are you laughing?”

“Because, I… I’m happy.” Castiel shrugged, letting his hand fall away from Dean’s arm. “I… Have felt quite similarly for several years, and I never knew when it would be appropriate to approach the situation, or how… I suppose I’m just… A bit caught off guard, that we should be having this conversation in the middle of a grocery store.”

Dean’s whole expression changed, going from stormy to warm.

“Yeah, I guess it is a little funny,” He admitted, his smile small but sincere as he readjusted his grip on the cart, watching Castiel a long moment before pushing past him. “Now come on-- I need to get some cold medicine,”

Just like that, the moment was over and they went back to moving through the grocery store in quiet tandem, nothing changed aside from a vocal acknowledgment of their feelings which had Castiel’s stomach knotted in a strangely pleasant way.

When they finally arrived at the checkout line, Dean was talking animatedly about a project at work, and Castiel was only listening with one ear. His main focus was turned inside, to where he could feel their bond, shimmering and dancing in a way Castiel had never seen it before-- the golden string was thrashing, wild and happy and carefree, and Castiel wondered if that was how Dean felt… Free. Elated.

He was watching it, nodding absently at Dean’s words, when he suddenly noticed something strange.

There, almost having escaped his notice, was a tear.

It ran through nearly half of the bond, the edges jagged and torn, frayed near the end.

Just barely there, amongst the happy golden shades, were hints of blue and green.

He felt a sudden cold terror grip him.

“Dean,” He said aloud, and something in his tone must have alerted the hunter to his change in mood.

“Cas,” He frowned, pushing their cart away from the register, groceries bagged and paid for as he tugged Cas gently along by the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“When did you start feeling ill?” He demanded, watching the hunters face as they made their way out to the car. Dean’s brows furrowed, confusion written in the lines of his face.

“Not really sure, why?”

“Think. I need to know the exact day.”

“Uh,” Dean hesitated. “The, uh.. Day we toured the house, I guess? Just sort of started feeling crappy. Been fighting it off since then,”

“Has it gotten worse?”

“I guess-- Cas, what is this about?”

Castiel began to load groceries into the back of the car slowly, his motions route, his eyes distant. He could feel the fledgling inside him, cowering away from him when he pushed accusing and disapproving thoughts in its directions.

“I… I think the fledgling has been eating part of your soul.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have received some lovely comments, and I just wanted to thank the few who took time to leave me feedback. I am truly enjoying writing this, as it's the first time I've gotten back to writing in a very long time, so it's good to know there are people enjoying reading it! 
> 
> Enjoy some good old fashion angst in this chapter-- and maybe a little smooching, too! Who knows what will happen?

They called Gabriel.

Anxiety was resting uncomfortably in Castiel’s gut. He had put away the groceries hours ago, afternoon bleeding into evening, but Gabriel had been busy when he’d called- something about “I do have my own stuff, you know? I’ll come when I can,” - and it might be a few hours before he arrived. Every moment seemed to drag, however, a familiar pulse of concern washing through his being with each breath.

 _Dean Winchester is in danger_.

 _Save Dean Winchester_.

The threat wasn’t imminent, he tried to soothe himself. The fledgling was cowered away in the far reaches of his remaining grace, still hiding after Castiel’s scolding when he had discovered the damage done to their bond. That bond was an important part of both Castiel and Dean’s life forces, the portion that connected their beings; Castiel could handle the loss, he thought, but Dean’s soul was fragile. It had been such a careful touch-and-go process rebuilding the hunters soul all those years ago; like a tower in a game of Jenga, Castiel was worried that moving the wrong piece might cause the whole thing to collapse.

It made sense to him now, at least, why the severity of his symptoms had been lessened since the morning of the house tour; it was the night before that the fledgling was first exposed to Castiel’s bond with the hunter. It must have been feeding off of it for over a month since then.

“Would you stop glaring at the damn stove,” Dean’s voice surprised him, and he looked up to notice the hunter watching him where he leaned against the kitchen doorframe. The angel was attempting to make spaghetti and give Dean, the usual cook of the house, a chance to rest. “It isn’t gonna bite you,”

He said nothing, instead glancing at the timer for the pasta.

Dean sighed, slowly coming forward into the kitchen and leaning against the island near to Castiel. “It’s not your fault,” He said.

“I really do not want to talk about this.” Castiel said without turning, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He had stayed away from Dean all afternoon, avoiding even thinking of the man, desperate to keep the bond away from his attention, from the _fledglings_ attention. 

“Come on,” Dean laughed, no humor to the sound. “You’ve been brooding since we got back. At least tell me what you’re thinking?”

“I’m waiting for Gabriel.” Castiel replied shortly. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“I called Sam.” 

Castiel spun, eyebrows nearly lifting off his face. “You did _what_?”

“We’re in over our heads,” Dean continued, hands buried in his pockets as he watched Castiel calmly. “Not only is this thing killing you, but now it’s leeching off me too.”

“We agreed not to contact--”

“To hell with what we agreed!” Dean’s sudden rise in voice startled him, and he took a step back towards the stove. Dean’s expression shifted, and he stepped slowly closer until he was standing less than an inch from Castiel, his eyes soft.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” He sighed, and Castiel stood rigid before him, focusing on something over the hunter’s shoulder; this close, Castiel could smell him. Pine, leather, Dean…

Heaven.

“Look. I know you trust Gabe, and if you do, then… I do, too. But Sammy’s getting left in the dark, and he might have something up his sleeve that Gabe doesn’t.” Dean explained, and Castiel watched their feet.

“What about the hunt?”

“We’ll figure something else out.” Dean shrugged, and Castiel felt the air shift around him at the motion; for once, he considered asking _Dean_ to respect _his_ ‘personal space.’ “Neither of us are really in the shape to be bait right now.”

Castiel nodded, finally mustering the courage to look up, and stopped. Dean was looking at him with the oddest expression, somewhere between concerned and determined. Castiel wanted to speak, but he felt the words die in his throat when Dean’s thumb and forefinger curled gently around his left wrist, a feather-light pressure encircling his pulse.

And suddenly, Dean was there. 

The hunter leaned in, lips parted around a quiet _Cas_ , and the angel was frozen, eyes closing of their own accord and-- the timer for the pasta rang, shrill and jarring, and his chin collided with Dean’s, both men jumping nearly a foot into the air. Dean cursed several times, holding his chin, and Castiel winced, tasting blood and realizing he had bit down on his own cheek. 

His knew he was flushed, and he turned to the pasta, collecting the bowl and taking it to the sink to drain it. Dean leaned quietly against the counter, looking a bit embarrassed, rubbing absently at the red mark on his chin. Castiel rolled his tongue in his mouth, getting rid of the iron taste, unsure whether or not to speak.

“That was… I'm normally a lot better at this,” Dean coughed, rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat. 

Castiel smiled into the sink.

“I'm sure you are,” He nodded, shaking the last of the boiled water off the pasta and running it under cool water for a moment, just to help with the temperature. He could feel Dean, a nervous energy at his back. 

“I am,” He defended himself, and Castiel turned around to put the pasta in with the already cooked sauce, mixing it slowly. “I just… It's uh… It's been awhile, okay?”

“Dean, you don't have to make excuses,” Castiel chuckled. “I'm not judging you. I by no means have much in the way of experience. Hand me the salt?”

“I'm not making an excuse,” Dean said as he handed Castiel the shaker, their fingers brushing. Dean was once more in close proximity, and Castiel felt a warm hand touch his side, just above his jeans. “It’s been a long time since I tried to do something right, Cas. I mean… You know I've got plenty of experience charming my way into a drunk girls panties,” Castiel made a face, and Dean’s hand twitched against his side. “But, this is different, and taking it slow just… Isn't my forte. Romance, either.”

Castiel shook a light amount of salt into the sauce, setting the shaker aside before he turned to face Dean, the hunter's fingers closed around the hem of his shirt as he arched an eyebrow at the angel. 

“I don't expect anything from you,” Castiel weighed his words carefully. “I harbor an affection for the Dean which I have come to know; it was never within my realm to fantasize about you. Honestly, I never considered my feelings to be above and beyond those of friendship, until you were nearly killed by that poltergeist in Indiana… I have felt panic, many times, upon seeing you in danger.. But something about the helplessness of you in that moment…”

Castiel frowned, and Dean brushed a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s face.

“I've never fantasized about the possibility that you might reciprocate, or how your actions would change should our capacity as guardian and charge change to something more akin to a… Partnership.” The word felt odd on Castiel’s tongue. “So whatever expectation you may hold yourself to, Dean, I assure you is an expectation of your own assumption.”

Dean’s mouth twitched in the barest of smiles, and he tugged on Castiel’s sweater. “You know... you could have just said ‘Don't worry about it, Dean, I don't really care if you take it slow.’”

“Yes, well.” Castiel smiled and reached forward hesitantly, fingers hovering just over Dean's jaw. Dean watched him a moment before he tilted his face into the touch, eyes wide and trusting as Castiel drew careful fingers over his skin for the first time in the light of the day. The feeling was liberating, and Castiel blinked, trying to assure himself that this was indeed reality. “I believe what I said was much more elegant.”

“Definitely,” Dean chuckled, and Castiel smiled at him, the anxiety melting away into a warm feeling of content. He felt the fledgling moving shyly out of hiding, but he didn't push it back; so long as it stayed away from the bond, Castiel supposed he wasn't angry. 

“Do you want that spaghetti now, or do you mind if I try and make another move on you?” Dean asked, grin turning wicked. Castiel rolled his eyes, but didn't protest.

“Uh,” a sudden voice interrupted. “Should I leave?”

“Sammy!” Dean whirled, nearly knocking the salt shaker off the counter where his elbow hit it. Castiel shot out a quick hand, catching it, and moved it safely out of the way. 

“Hey,” Sam grinned as Dean rushed to hug him, giving the customary two pats on the back before withdrawing. “I knocked, but no one answered.”

“Sorry, Cas and I were talking.” He shrugged, motioning Sam to sit down at the kitchen table and sitting across from him. 

“From what I heard, you made move on him that apparently didn't work, since you had to ask to try again.” Sam’s grin was devious. 

“Shut it.” Dean glared. 

“Need me to file a harassment case, Cas?” Sam glanced at the angel, who had piled spaghetti onto plates for the boys and was searching for forks.

“I’m not sure the argument would hold in court,” Castiel replied, setting the food before each sibling before taking the seat to Dean's right. “Considering I was a willing participant.”

Dean snorted, and Sam choked on his first bite of spaghetti. 

They talked for awhile after that, a silent sort of recognition of Dean and Castiel’s new relationship falling between the three of them, Dean explaining the situation between bites while Castiel watched on. Dean tried to offer him something to eat twice, but Castiel politely declined each time, his appetite escaping him now that he was once more focused on their situation instead of Dean.

“So… It’s feeding off of both of you now?” Sam questioned as Dean worked on the dishes.

“Apparently,” Dean nodded, brushing his hand along the small of Castiel’s back as the angel passed on the way to grab a drink out of the fridge. Castiel was surprised by the bold touch, but not displeased.

“Isn’t that… Good?” Sam pondered. “Means it’s not draining Cas completely,”

“Not necessarily,”

Dean spun, breaking a dish as he grabbed for a handgun under the counter, and Sam stood, toppling his chair.

“Whoa, boys,” Gabriel slowly raised his hands, mischief in his smile. “I was invited-- no need for the dramatics,”

“You can’t just… Pop in like that!” Dean growled, glancing down at the shattered remnants of the plate he had been cleaning, putting the gun away and kneeling. “Shit,” he mumbled as Castiel handed him a towel to wrap the broken pieces in. 

“Sorry, boyos. Cas,” He greeted, leaning against the doorway. Castiel smiled fleetingly at his brother. “I gather from what Sam said that the leech is overstepping its boundaries,”

“It is not a leech.” Castiel shocked himself with the force behind his words, and three pairs of eyebrows shot up in response to his words. Dean stood, setting the towel full of broken pieces on the counter and taking a step towards Castiel where he stood, now tensed. “But yes. It has been… Stealing, from our bond. I have no way of telling what damage it's done to Dean’s actual soul, I… I can’t see that, anymore. That’s why I called you.”

It was evident in Castiel’s tone that the words were hard to say out loud; acknowledging just how close to humanity he teetered.

Gabriel frowned for a short moment before sighing and nodding, turning to face Dean. “Alright, Deano-- over here, if you don’t mind.”

The hunter exchanged a look with Castiel, who nodded gently, before moving to stand in front of Gabriel. The archangel squinted at him, the center of his chest, for a long moment, expression focused-- before he reached out a hand, plunging a hand into Dean’s chest and bathing the room in light.

Sam and Castiel’s shouts barely registered over Dean’s pained one, and Castiel rushed forward. The light that bled from Dean’s chest was bright, almost blinding, but Castiel recognized the unearthly shades of orange, the rusted reds, the powdered blues… It was Dean’s soul, the edges of it, bleeding into the room. 

Castiel reached Dean just as Gabriel pulled away, and Dean crumpled, bringing Castiel to the floor with him. The hunter was heavy in his arms, head lolling back uselessly against Castiel’s shoulder; fainted.

“I didn’t tell you to touch it!” Castiel snapped, and Gabriel held up a hand, stopping Sam dead in his tracks to punch the archangel.

“Sorry, little brother, but you’re territorial-- if I warned you, you wouldn’t have let me.” Gabriel’s voice was teasing, but Castiel could see there was sincerity in his eyes. “Besides, I couldn’t make out much on the surface-- but, you’re right. The little bugger slipped in through your bond with him. It’s chewed a decent hole in his soul, but nothing that will kill him.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably under Dean’s weight before Sam reluctantly moved to help him move Dean onto his back on the kitchen floor.

“What does it mean for me?” Castiel asked once he was standing, not moving from Dean’s side.

“Well… You know as good as I do that a soul has only about a tenth of the juice our grace has,” Gabriel shrugged, and Castiel felt the small blossom of hope in his chest begin to decay. “But, it did take out a good chunk of his soul… Little under a third. It _might_ save you some grace, just enough to keep your vessel alive, it might _not_. It all depends on the fledgling.”

“What’s happened in the past?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel laughed bitterly. “No one survives this, Castiel. It’s a death sentence, a… Last resort, if you will, if Dad doesn’t think Falling is enough. I’ve never seen an angel even _try_ to fight this, let alone start to care for the fledgling killing it.”

“I don’t care for--”

“Bullshit,” Gabriel interrupted. “I call bullshit on that. You let your defenses down enough that this thing got to Dean. Now, even if your grace is failing you, he’s _still_ your charge, and you’re _still_ in love with him. There’s no way you shouldn’t have been able to sense it crawling all over that bond unless you cared about it, or at least considered it not a threat.”

Sam’s head was turning to each of them in turn, and Castiel ground his teeth. He didn’t want to admit it, but Gabriel was right; he had let his affection for the fledgling compromise his duties as a guardian.

“What do I do?” Castiel demanded.

“Wait,” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s all you can do, now. I’d say… Come October, it’ll be powered up and ready for a vessel.”

“That’s not even two weeks,” Sam interjected, but the angels ignored him.

“And if I survive it's feeding off my grace?” Castiel demanded.

“You remember when Joshua put it inside you?”

“He leveled an acre of forest,” Sam frowned. Gabriel glanced down at the sasquatch of a hunter where he was kneeling next to his unconscious brother.

“When the thing is ready to climb out,” He said, without looking at Castiel. “The explosion will have the approximate force of an atom bomb.”

Castiel and Sam both blanched.

“The explosion will kill me, if the loss of my grace doesn’t.” Castiel rasped. He leaned against the counter, suddenly weak. He had been foolish, so foolish, to think he could find a way out of this… To think, only hours ago, that he might find happiness.

Gabriel nodded gravely.

“Why do you think no one but the Archangels have ever witnessed a fledglings birth? It’s… Powerful. A new warrior of Heaven, born from a supernova… Or some shit like that.” He shrugged, and Castiel felt dread settling low in his gut, there to stay. The fledgling, oddly still through this whole ordeal, twisted quietly around Castiel’s grace, which was dyed a sullen shade of gray. He could tell by the creatures quiet, shy movements, that it was confused by its hosts upset mood.

“But… It isn’t a warrior from Heaven,” Sam frowned, catching both angel’s attentions. He stood, leaving Dean on the floor. “I mean… It isn’t even an angel, is it? If it’s got a part of Dean’s soul… Doesn’t that make it Nephilim?”

Gabriel’s expression darkened, and the pit in Castiel’s stomach grew wider.

“Shit.” The archangel whispered, scrubbing a hand over his face, and Sam looked to Castiel, confused as Gabriel paced a slow circle. “If Heaven finds out… If the other angels find out…”

“They’ll hunt it down,” Castiel explained to Sam. “A Nephilim child, born of Heaven rather than Earth… It could mean all out war if we tried to protect it.”

“But there’s a chance you would survive the, uh… Birth?” Castiel made a face at the term and Sam shrugged apologetically. “I mean, if it’s part human, maybe the explosion won’t be quite so bad.”

“He’s right,” Gabriel said from across the room. “There’s a chance you survive this, but… Cas, you understand I can’t keep my promise if you don’t? I can’t protect it.”

“Why not?” Castiel bristled.

“I would be hunted, for the rest of my life-- it would, too. Nowhere we went would ever be safe… And you know as well as I do the danger a Nephilim poses.”

“If it is raised like a cow for slaughter, yes,” Castiel snapped. “If it’s treated with love, raised to protect… I was there, when the Nephilim became a problem. I know there were good ones that we slaughtered, among the bad.”

“I can’t do it, Cas,” Gabriel said, eyes sad as he shook his head.

“You won’t!” Castiel accused. “All that is left of me, my legacy, and you wouldn’t protect it? You would lead it to them and let them kill it?”

Gabriel stared, silent. 

Castiel snapped.

“Get out.”

“Castiel, I--”

“Get out of my house.”

“Let me--”

“Now.”

Gabriel was there only a moment longer before the soft snap of wings announced his departure and Castiel turned, bending to collect Dean in his arms. Sam watched, surprised by the angel’s sudden strength as he lifted Dean in a bridal carry.

“You’re welcome to stay on the couch.” He said, eyes hard. Sam nodded slowly, watching as he turned to the stairs and slowly carried Dean up them. 

“Cas?” He called when the angel was midway up. He stopped without answering. “We’re gonna fix this, okay? You’re gonna be fine, and the, uh… Fledgling, too.”

Castiel said nothing. Instead, he carried Dean to bed, tucking him carefully under the blankets, before crawling in beside him and staring at the ceiling. It was dark, no moon tonight, and it painted the expanse above him black.

Castiel ached, suddenly, for flight; he wanted to touch the stars, just one more time.

Instead, he reached out in the dark, closing his fingers around the next best thing; Dean.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but... please don't hate me?

Castiel became human.

Castiel became a time bomb.

He had been in the shower when it had happened, his grace twisting so suddenly and wildly in his chest that he doubled over, the very wind knocked out of his being. There had been one last burst, similar to the explosion in the woods but on a much smaller scale, and every light-bulb in the house had shattered.

Dean had broken down the bathroom door, finding Castiel curled in the fetal position in the floor of the tub, the shadow of his wings burned across the bathroom, his body trembling with the force of withholding his sobs.

He hadn’t said much, since that day.

Granted he still had grace, Gabriel had been right; it was just enough to keep him alive, a makeshift soul that shined just a little brighter than a normal human's would. He lost his ability to sense the supernatural, the fledgling, and Dean; he began to forget memories of his past, of Heaven-- in less than a week, he couldn’t recall anything before 1924.

Dean bought him a journal, telling him to write everything down, and he did. Castiel wrote many things-- thoughts, memories, concerns. He wrote letters to his Father, to Dean; he sketched sometimes, vague outlines of shapes and forms he no longer knew, the house, Sam and Dean, once himself.

October was two days away, now.

He had two days left to live, and he couldn’t bring himself to face the fact.

Presently, Castiel was wandering the aisles of a holiday themed store, the first time he had left the house in days. Around him were thousands of plastic ghosts, ghouls, and creatures; crude portrayals of the things that actually stalked the night, meant to frighten children. He examined a pair of fake vampires teeth, wondering why people would spend money on something so ridiculous. 

“Hi!” A peppy teenage girl appeared in his vision, and Castiel glanced up, noting her spider rings and striped witch stockings; her name tag declared her to be named Bella. “I noticed you were sort of floating around. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Well,” Castiel frowned, setting the teeth aside. “I suppose, yes. My… Partner, has a strange affinity for the Halloween holiday. I was hoping to find some decorations we might put around the house,”

“Oh, sure!” Bella smiled. “All our decorations are on aisles nine and ten-- you’re in the costume makeup aisle right now.”

“Thank you,” Castiel nodded, turning to where she directed him.

“No problem, let me know if you need anything else,” She beamed, wandering away to help someone else as Castiel made his ways to aisles nine and ten.

Dean was, true to what he’d said, fond of Halloween. The man found a sort of ironic humor in the holiday given their lifestyle and, from what Castiel understood, he enjoyed making his own costumes. Sam had mentioned the holiday after dinner the previous evening, and Dean had simply sighed something about taking a shower as he ascended the stairs. Castiel understood all too well that his bleak future was taking a toll on Dean’s mood, and he wanted to do something nice for him.

He wanted to see Dean smile, and Sam had agreed to drop him off at the store while he ran an errand.

Castiel collected several packages of fake cobwebs, window clings, Halloween themed string lights, and a pointed witch’s hat which he planned to put in the swing on the front porch. 

Sam picked him up outside the store, and Castiel set his things in the back of the rusted pick up truck, next to three pumpkins, before climbing in the cab. Sam smiled at him before pulling away from the curb, eyes on the road.

“Get what you needed?” 

“Yes.”

Castiel wasn’t much for talking, and he appreciated Sam for understanding as they drove. Castiel wasn’t paying much attention, but he knew well enough to recognize when they weren’t going home.

“Sam?” He questioned, glancing over at the younger Winchester.

“I told Dean that I’d bring him lunch,” Sam explained, motioning to a bag of carry-out sitting on the seat between them that Castiel hadn’t noticed. “I can take you home first, if you want. I just figured you might want to see him,”

Castiel shrugged, saying nothing.

Since the afternoon in the kitchen, Dean and Castiel had not delved further into the prospect of affections. They still slept together, waking more and more frequently tangled together, but Dean seemed once more skittish in the light of day. Castiel knew he was partly to blame; he had been distant from everyone since Gabriel had estimated his death to be inescapable, especially Dean. 

He didn’t want to get attached, or get Dean attached to him, when he would be gone so soon.

They pulled up alongside the shop where Dean worked, and Sam parked the truck. Sam headed for the front door, food in hand, while Castiel lingered behind, eyes on the ground. He could see Dean’s coworkers watching him, “Dan” called several times within the shop before Dean’s voice shouted something he couldn’t make out.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, watched his shoes.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice said somewhere close, and Castiel heard the brother’s embrace. There was a rustling, the food exchanging hands he would guess, and Dean and Sam’s voices exchanging quick words, too quietly for Dean to catch.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and suddenly he was drawn into an embrace, his face pressed into Dean’s oil-stained shirt. He stood there, stiff a moment, before relaxing, turning his face so his cheek rested against Dean’s shoulder, his body leaning into the hunter’s. Dean’s arms were strong around him, one hand in the small of his back, the other gently caressing the back of his neck.  
“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hi.” Castiel greeted, suddenly aware of how tired he sounded.

“Sorry if the guys are staring,” Dean mumbled into his hair, lips brushing softly over his forehead before he withdrew. “I uh… Told them you’ve got cancer, to explain the uh… Never seeing you in public, thing. And the bad health.”

Castiel nodded, missing the pressure of Dean’s body against his as the glanced back at Sam, where he was talking with one of Dean’s coworkers.

“You having a good day?” He asked, and Castiel shrugged.

“Boring. I feel like I’m… Useless, like this.” Castiel admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’re human, Cas,” Dean sighed, his voice quiet as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, lifting it to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing his stomach; Castiel was momentarily distracted by the skin, but Dean’s shirt quickly dropped to cover it once more. “Not useless.”

“As good as,” Castiel grumped, and Dean gave him a withering look.

“So humanity is useless?”

“No,” Castiel back-peddled, cheeks flushing. “No, I… That’s not what I meant…”

“I know,” Dean sighed, expression softening. “Look. I know better than anyone that you’ve got a lot going on in that big old head of yours… But don’t make yourself miserable all the time, alright? If…”

Dean’s eyes darkened, and Castiel frowned, stepping forward, into Dean’s space. The hunter smiled, something sad and bleak and forced, and rested a hand against Castiel’s side.

“If this is all the time you’ve got left, don’t waste it on being pissy, alright? And don’t make me waste it bickering with you, either.”

Dean’s hand was warm against his side, heat bleeding through his shirt and soaking into his skin. He sighed, pressing his face into Dean’s shoulder, seeking comfort there without fear of rejection.

“I don’t mean to be this way,” He sighed, feeling Dean’s hands pull gently through his hair. “I just… Two days is… A short time. A very short time.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean’s voice was quiet, his hand sliding from Castiel’s hair to his back, rubbing a slow series of circles there. “But you’re gonna get through this. You’ve made it through worse.”

“What if I don’t?”

Dean said nothing, but wrapped both arms around Castiel, drawing the ex-angel in tightly against him. Castiel slid his own arms around Dean’s middle, holding on. It wasn’t life he was clinging to, he thought, it was Dean.

“I gotta get back to work,” Dean sighed, and Castiel nodded against his shoulder, but made no move to step away. Dean chuckled softly, resting his chin atop Castiel’s head and squeezing him gently before stepping away; Castiel didn’t stop him from going.

Dean surprised him, leaning in and brushing a soft kiss against Castiel’s cheek. 

“You cooking tonight, or me?” He asked.

“Sam,” Castiel replied, cheeks flushed red. 

“Alright,” Dean smiled, winking. “I’ll see you tonight, sweet cheeks.”

Castiel stared dumbly after him until Sam made him move, pulling on his arm gently until Castiel came to his senses and returned to the truck.

Sam said nothing on the ride home, instead smiling smugly the whole ride, and they went their separate ways upon reaching the house, Sam to cook dinner while Cas put up decorations. He hung cobwebs from the porch railings, set the witch hat in the front swing, hung a string of orange lights around the front door, and plastered different Halloween-shaped window stickers on every surface he could. He placed Sam's three pumpkins in a cluster at the top of the steps leading up to the porch, pleased with his work once he was done. 

It was by no means designer work, but it screamed Halloween. 

He retired upstairs, then, and sat in bed with his journal. He’d drifted off when writing about World War II the night before, what bits and pieces he could remember of the overbearing work load in Heaven and Hell both, and he skipped to a new page, sketching the soft image of the Halloween-dressed house.

Beneath it, he wrote a single sentence.

_**Sep. 28 - I hope they keep the house after I'm gone.** _

\------

Dean took time off work; Dean took him camping.

The chill of fall had snuck into the air, and Castiel wasn't pleased with the idea of leaving the house. Dean had been adamant, however, shoving a newly-bought tent into the back of the Impala, among other gear. Castiel, frustrated, had demanded to know why Dean all of a sudden wanted to drag him into the middle of nowhere for a week. 

Dean had said nothing, but Castiel realized the minute the words left his mouth; Dean was taking him somewhere isolated, protecting Lawrence from the potential shock-wave that might come when the fledgling left him. 

He didn't complain after that, the two of them sitting in silence for the length of the drive. 

September passed into October on their second night at the campsite, and Castiel shook uncontrollably in Dean's arms until the sun rose. They both were surprised that Castiel was still alive, but they said nothing; they dressed for the day, sharing a small breakfast, and went on a hike. Dean took his hand at some point to help him up a ledge; he held on the rest of the hike, only letting go once they had returned to their campsite.

That night, Dean held him again; Castiel made him promise that he would run, whenever things started to go atomic.

Dean said nothing.

October first passed into October second.

Castiel slept less than an hour; Dean didn't sleep at all.

They took another hike, stopping by a river. Dean leaned against a tree, breaking twigs quietly between his fingers; Castiel leaned against Dean, sketching their shapes under the dim light of a forest canopy, captioning it;

_**Oct. 2 - Still alive.** _

They returned to the campsite late that night, neither of them speaking. Castiel could feel it, building low in his gut and trying to grow; hope. He knew Dean was feeling it too, could see it in his eyes. Gabriel predicted he would be dead when October came; October was here, and he was still breathing. 

When he crawled into the sleeping bag that night, Dean voiced his thoughts. “Maybe… Maybe if, uh… If you're still okay tomorrow night… Maybe we can go home.”

Castiel wanted to kiss him.

He didn't.

Thursday, October third dawned bright and early; Castiel and Dean had clung to each other once more, but they had managed to sleep at least part of the night.

The ate, they dressed, and they set out once more on the trails.

They waited to come back until dark, Castiel with a shirt full of wild blackberries and stained fingers. They talked while they walked, Dean's laughs echoing through the woods. They piled the gathered berries into a discarded ziploc bag that once contained the crackers Dean had brought along, and then leaned by the fire, Dean's head in Castiel’s lap.

Thursday, October third, had been Castiel’s favorite day.

He showered in the campground facilities, dressing in loose pajamas, lying in the tent while Dean headed off for his own shower; he smiled at the roof of the tent. For the first time in his life, he was truly happy.

Which must have been why the fledgling decided it was time.

Castiel would think, later, that maybe the fledgling did wait for Castiel to get a taste of happiness-- that it wanted him to die, knowing what it felt like to have not a care in the world. He would very quickly reassess the situation, however, and decide that his Father just wanted him to live barely long enough to get a taste of that which he would never get to have.

The pain hit him square in the chest, where he knew his grace was; it was like lightning, boiling his skin, the feeling spreading until he entire body was on fire. He could see the space around him growing light, hear the ringing in his ears, the sound vibrating his entire being. He was writhering now, atop the sleeping bag, mouth open in the silent scream of the agonized. 

His heart was struggling to hold on to its beat, the sheer force of the shockwaves rocking through him interrupting its rythm. He felt it jump, stop for three beats, before it jumped twice; it kept this up, leaving Castiel heaving for breath, vision blurring. His organs were shutting down, he could tell, the sheer force of the fledgling climbing out of his human vessel simply too much for the flesh and bone.

Man was not made to walk among the Heavens, nor to harbor its power.

Castiel choked, spasming.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Dean screaming.

Castiel was dying-- he could see a light, different from the one streaming from his being. This was soft, golden tinged and warm.

He held on, backing away from the light.

__

He prayed.

 _Gabriel._

_Brother._

_If you won't protect it, please…_

_Protect **him.**_

_Get him to safety._

_Let him **live.**_

And suddenly there was a new light, a new warmth, overshadowing the golden heat that called to Castiel. It was a million different shades of purple and green and gray, humming and singing in tune; it was a face, a being, Castiel had not seen in thousands of years.

“Thank you,” he gasped, reaching out for Gabriel-- as his heart spasmed, stuttering once in his chest, and was still.

______

News feeds said it was an asteroid, or a terrorist attack.

Angels thought it was God. Demons did, too.

Sam Winchester knew it meant Castiel was dead-- and he tried to keep his furious, hysterical brother still on the kitchen floor of the farmhouse, where an archangel had thrown him only seconds before the shock wave rocked the state of Kansas.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean didn’t say anything, after that night. He had kicked, screamed, cursed and cried the night Cas died, fighting Sam until the last ounce of fight left his body and grief took over. They both fell asleep on the floor at some point in the night, Sam’s arms locked tight around his big brother, and they awoke sore and still exhausted.

Sam tried several times in the days following to coax Dean out of the house-- his job had called, looking for him. Sam told him there was a death in the family, and they said to call when he was ready to come back.

The news report said a family of five, the youngest child being a week old, had been killed in the blast.

Dean turned the T.V. off, and went to bed.

After that, Sam wasn’t sure Dean would be ready for anything, at any time, ever again.

He moved around the house like a ghost, hardly eating, never sleeping. He spoke once, surprising Sam, eyes alight when he heard a knock on the door. He called out “Cas?”

Sam told him it was the mailman, and he was almost positive it broke his brother’s heart.

Dean went back up to the bedroom, and laid facing the wall-- it was the usual place Sam found him, the first three days.

On day four, he awoke from his place on the couch to find Dean dressed and sipping coffee at the kitchen table, newspaper in hand. He didn’t say a single word when Sam asked him if he was alright; he simply finished his coffee, folded the paper neatly closed, stood up and left, grabbing his work jacket on the way out the door.

On day seven, Dean started talking to him again.

“I never even kissed him, you know?” He said at dinner, and Sam froze with a fork halfway to his mouth. “I just… Never felt like it was the right time… I should have kissed him, Sammy.”

“I don’t think he wanted you to, Dean.” Sam said after a moment of quiet.

“What?” Dean sounded dazed.

“I think… He didn’t want to push past what you two had already… He didn’t want it to be harder for you when he was gone. At least… That’s how it seemed to me.” 

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, and Sam wasn’t sure if it was a chuckle or a sniffle that followed. “He was always a selfless bastard, wasn't he?”

“Yeah,” Sam smiled softly. “He was good guy.”

“The best.” Dean agreed.

They didn’t say a word the rest of dinner; Castiel’s ghost haunted them in the empty chair at Dean’s side.

It was day eighteen now, and Dean was almost back to normal.

He was talking again, and eating; he slept, at least enough to get rid of the bags under his eyes, and he went to work. He bought a 1960 Chevy Biscayne off of someone at work; the car was a piece of junk, but when Dean towed it into the driveway Sam said nothing. Dean spent almost every evening out in the yard, working on her-- it gave him something to do, a way to devote his time, and for that Sam was glad.

Despite his return to normal behavior, Sam still saw it; the way Dean sometimes flinched when his mind wandered, a haunted edge creeping into his eyes. He heard the way Dean turned restlessly at night, never able to find a comfortable position-- he saw the way his brother missed Castiel, and how much he hated himself for not saving him.

He wasn’t sure that that would ever go away.

Day eighteen, Sam decided, was the turning point, the day Dean would finally start the process of healing and moving on-- which is, of course, why day eighteen is when everything went to Hell.

It was roughly six, and Dean had skipped out on dinner to work on the Biscayne before it got dark. The evening was calm and cool, hovering in the mid fifties, and Sam was watching his brother from the front window when the sudden tell-tale sound of wings came from behind him and Sam’s stomach bottomed out.

If Dean saw Gabriel, he might - no might about it, really - kill him.

Turning, Sam opened his mouth, fully prepared to give the archangel a verbal flogging-- in time to see Gabriel lying Castiel gently on the couch, placing something wrapped in cloth atop his chest.

The cloth wiggled once before stilling.

“What the hell?” Sam demanded, eyes wide as he took in the way Castiel’s chest rose and fell, the ball of cloth on top of him - the creature, if the wiggles were any sign to go by - following the motions.

“You’re welcome,” Gabriel rasped, and Sam realized for the first time just how awful the archangel looked; his hair was windblown, his clothes wrinkled and dirty, dark rings casting shadows under his eyes. 

“What happened? Where have you been?” Sam demanded, torn between moving to Castiel or calling for Dean. “How is he still alive? Is he still alive?”

“Yes,” Gabriel nodded and lowered himself onto the arm of the couch, movements slow and deliberate. “I… Made a stupid decision, Sam, and I’m here because I need you and your brother’s help.”

“What did you do?” Sam demanded, suddenly tensed.

“I went against God,” Gabriel said, eyes dark as he glanced at Castiel. “I… Saved my brother, and the… Abomination.”

“The fledgling?” Sam’s heart pounded in his chest.

“Yes,” Gabriel nodded, pointing to the bundled creature atop Castiel’s chest. “It’s occupied the vessel of an infant. Don’t ask me why, or how, or who because I don’t know. The damn thing is less than a month old, and there’s no host soul in the body-- I looked.”

Sam stepped closer, but stopped.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” He demanded, a sudden fire building in his gut. “Do you even know what this has done to Dean? What this has put him through, emotionally? Fuck, he’s been a wreck, you--”

“Ex-cuse me for trying to keep them safe!” Gabriel growled, eyes narrowed dangerously at Sam. “Every damn angel, demon, or supernatural being on the planet flocked to that explosion. I took Castiel and the fledgling and hid them out of the country until I had enough power to--”

“You had enough power?” Sam frowned, interrupting, looking the archangel over. “Were you… Did you get hurt?”

“Yes, Samuel. Contrary to the belief of you Winchester boys, we angels are not invincible. Throwing your idiot brother out of harm's way, holding my idiot brother’s vessel together at the epicenter of an angelic atom bomb, carrying both the fledgling and Castiel to safety, and then resurrecting Castiel is not an easy walk in the park, even for me.”

“Resurrecting?” Sam rasped.

“You think he actually survived that blast? He was human… His soul was nearly gone from his body when I reached him. I had to pull it back from the gates of Heaven, not to mention repairing the liquefied organs once he was back.”

“But he’s okay now?” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“He’s fine. He hasn’t woken up, yet, and the fledgling has been pining for him. If I move the damn thing away from him, it starts crying and it doesn't stop.”

Gabriel sounded irritated, but when Sam stepped forward to collect the small bundle from Castiel’s chest, he could see relief in the archangels eyes. Gabriel was exhausted, Sam realized, hanging on by his fingertips; when he said he needed Sam and Dean's help, he meant it.

Sam carefully picked up the bundle, and a small face peeked out at him from among the blankets. It was a tiny infant, less than a month old, like Gabriel had said. It had a light dusting of dark hair, and a spattering of freckles across its rounded face. It slept soundly, fist shoved between its lips, mouth twitching when Sam adjusted his grip.

“Does… It's Nephilim, right?” Sam questioned.

“Yes,” Gabriel replied. “A good part of its soul looks like your brother's… I'd lay it back down, now.”

As if on cue, the baby awoke, greeting Sam with two different colored eyes. Sam blinked, barely registering the one blue iris and the other green one before the baby opened its mouth and let out a wail that vibrated the room in the way onl

The lights flickered, dimming a moment, before surging back to light. Sam, startled, laid the child on Castiel’s chest where it yawned and closed its eyes once more.

“It's got some sort of… Attachment.” Gabriel explained tiredly. “It gets pretty pissed if you move it away from Castiel.”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when Dean suddenly came slamming through the front door, angel blade in hand and eyes wild, interrupting him.

It took Dean only a second to spot Gabriel, and suddenly he was rushing forward, murder in his eyes, and only Sam's arms around him stopped his rampage. “Dean!” He tried, but Dean was gone. 

“I'm gonna rip your lungs out, you hear me you chicken winged bastard? He trusted you! He loved you, he stuck up for you! And you left him to die-- let me go, Sam! I'm gonna kill him!”

“Dean!” Sam shook his brother, and the older man stilled, breathing hard, shooting him a withering look.

“What!” He demanded.

“Look.”

Dean nearly snarled, his expression almost animalistic in his fury, before he turned his head to look at Gabriel once more-- and then finally noticed Cas.

Dean went limp in Sam's grasp quite suddenly, angel blade slipping from his fingers and falling the the floor with a metallic hum. The fury drained to white faced terror in Dean's face, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw.

“Cas?”

Sam released him, and Dean moved as if he was in a daze. Gabriel moved out of his way, coming to stand near Sam, the two watching as Dean moved to slowly kneel beside the couch, hands fluttering over Castiel, but never touching him. 

“Why isn't he awake?” He demanded, voice tense.

“You should know better than anyone, Deano. Resurrection takes a lot out of someone,” Gabriel said. There was nothing teasing or mean in his voice; he simply sounded as if he was tired to the very bone. 

“You… Brought him back?” 

“Yes.”

Dean turned to watch Gabriel over his shoulder for a moment, eyes hard. After a moment he nodded and turned back to Cas.

Sam knew it was the best apology Gabriel would get.   
Dean seemed to notice the baby, for the first time, and Sam watched as his brother carefully reached out and touched the small figure. Its nose wrinkled at the brush of Dean's fingers, and it slowly opened its eyes and set Dean with a leveled blue-green stare.

“What the hell?” Dean demanded, standing and slowly lifting the baby. 

Sam tensed, prepared for another light-dimming shout-- but it never came.

“Congrats,” Gabriel said. “You're the first person to pick it up without it crying.”

“Whose kid is it? Why the hell is it here?” Dean asked, cradling the baby with ease.

“Well I suppose technically it’s yours,” Gabriel shrugged, and Dean looked up from where he was studying the child at the news. “Yours and Castiel’s.”

“This is…” Dean trailed off, expression unreadable.

“The fledgling, yes.”

Dean was quiet a long moment, before he moved to Gabriel, holding the baby out. “Take it.” He demanded.

“Excuse me?” Gabriel’s eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead.

“I said take it.” Dean said, voice louder now. “It almost killed Cas, it took part of my soul-- it doesn’t belong here; take it to Heaven, kill it, I don’t care. It can’t stay here.”

“Dean,” Sam whispered, shocked by his brother’s words. Dean was always one to see the good in people-- and here he was trying to condemn an infant to die at the hands of Heaven. 

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he took the baby from Dean, eyeing the hunter warily before he carried it over to Castiel, lying it once more on the sleeping man’s chest. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel raised his hand in clear motion for silence. Sam was suddenly aware of the power crackling through the air, the tension. It was a long time before Gabriel spoke, and his voice was measured when he did.

“When Castiel found out what was happening to him, do you know what he asked me?” The archangel fixed Dean with a dangerous glare. “He asked me to protect you, and the fledgling. That thing almost killed him, for food… But he cared for it. He’s sees something in that… Abomination, that’s worth saving-- just like he saw something in you, when he pulled you out of Hell. I might not like it, and you might not either, but I’d like to see your face when you explain to my brother that you let that kid be handed over to slaughter, because I damn well guarantee you he would never forgive you.”

“From what Cas and Sam told me after you got your grubby hands all over my soul, you were planning on doing it anyways!” Dean bristled. 

“Yeah, well, I decided saving Castiel and keeping my promise was worth putting myself in danger for!” Gabriel snapped, and a wave of energy rolled through the room, upsetting the child on Castiel’s chest. Castiel himself seemed to feel the energy, twisting uneasily in his sleep while the child atop his chest wailed uneasily, dimming the lights in the room. “You got a problem with that?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Gabriel, but slowly moved back towards the infant, gathering it into his arms and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet to sooth the energy-altering cries. After a few moments, the child relaxed, cries died down to soft whimpers.

“Besides,” Gabriel said, more composed this time. “It’s technically your kid-- has a part of your soul.”

“Can we stop calling it an it?” Dean grumbled, peeking beneath the blankets. “He’s a boy.”

“Technically, angels have no gender.”

“Well he ain’t a angel if he’s got half my soul, is he?” Dean challenged.

Gabriel remained silent and Dean nodded, realizing he had won, and glanced back down at the kid. The little boy watched Dean with wide owl eyes, blinking slowly. The kid had the Cas-stare down pat, Sam knew that much, but the eyes themselves were alarming. The left, with its soft emerald shade, and the right, with the deep blue. A mishap in the host’s genes, if there had ever been a host-- or something angelic. 

“When will Cas wake up?” Dean asked, shifting the kid to his shoulder. He cooed once, softly, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder, little body starfished against the hunter’s chest. Dean held one hand against the back of his neck, the other supporting his bottom.

Sam wondered absently if Dean’s aptitude for child-care was because of him.

“No telling.” Gabriel answered shortly. “But pray for me when he does-- I have things to do.”

Gabriel left without hesitation, and Sam watched Dean where he was still swaying softly, baby dozing on his shoulder.

“You… Weren’t really gonna hand him over to Heaven, were you?” Sam asked.

Dean was silent, glancing at Castiel on the couch. Sam took it as a yes.

“He needs a name,” Dean said after a moment, sitting on the couch beside his sleeping companion. “I’m not just gonna call him ‘him’ all the time.”

“Don’t you think we should wait for Cas?”

“Why, so he can give the poor kid some awful name ending in _-iel_ or _-ael_?” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. He laid the baby out in the crease of his knees, and the two stared each other down while Sam stood nearby.

“Zeppelin?” 

“And you thought Cas would have bad name ideas?” 

“Hey! Don’t disrespect Zep!” 

“Shut up, and be serious. Other ideas?”

“Robert, John?” Dean arched a brow and Sam shook his head.

“Bad luck… Bobby and Dad are both dead.”

Sam looked around the room while Dean prattled off names, none seeming to fit the dual-eyed boy who wiggled irritably in his lap. Sam’s eyes darted over the kitchen counter before returning, and--

“Jack.”

“Jack?” Dean echoed, trying it out, nodding slowly. “Alright… Jack Winchester. Yeah. I can get behind that. What do you think?”

Dean eyed the baby, and Jack gave a soft coo, shoving his fist in his mouth.

“Alright, Jack it is. Point one for Uncle Sammy.”

Sam grinned, wandering into the kitchen and grabbing the bottle from the counter, bringing it to the living room and setting it on the coffee table in front of Dean. “Always told you Jack Daniels gave me my best ideas.”

“Dude… Did you just name my kid after whiskey?”

“Yup,”

Dean smirked, eyes alight with a mirth Sam hadn’t seen in eighteen days. “Alright, Jack, I take it back-- that’s two points for Uncle Sammy.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the comments are thoroughly entertaining me! I'm so glad you all like this work so much, and are so invested in it! I'm really enjoying writing it, and I'm trying to crank out a chapter a day. Hope you enjoy this chapter!! Please keep commenting, it's such a great incentive that helps me push myself to write more.

Castiel’s first conscious thought was that Heaven smelled a lot like Dean. He was blanketed in warmth, his limbs heavy and mouth cottoned with disuse. The slight odor of pine hung around him like a veil, washing over him fresh and bold when he raised his arms slowly over his head to stretch. He could hear voices somewhere in the distance, and he wondered who might be roaming his Heaven other than Dean.

That is, assuming he was indeed in Heaven-- Hell could look pleasing, at first, if a demon wanted it to.

Slowly, he opened his eyes; soft daylight illuminated dust where it drifted lazily through the farmhouse bedroom, a sight Castiel had come to associate with morning. It was only when he first arose that the light would hit the dust particles just right, making them appear as microscopic snowflakes dancing across his line of sight. 

He stretched slowly and lazily, feeling the aches and stiffened joints of someone who had been lying still far too long. He had thought the annoying customs of humanity would have died with him, but he was soon forced to leave the bed and empty his bladder. He moved slowly, taking a moment to gargle with mouthwash after washing his hands, before deciding he had delayed the inevitable long enough; he had to go see his Heaven now, or he may not get the nerve to leave this room.

The house was just as Castiel had left it before camping, the Halloween window-stickers still pressed to every glass surface. He descended the stairs as if in a dream, the sounds of voices reaching his ears.

“.. The favorite, and you know it!”

“He's my kid!”

“I named him!”

“My soul, my kid, Sammy. Now hand him over.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, like you don't cuss in front of him!”

“I cover his ears, dude!”

Castiel stepped into the kitchen, timid and quiet, watching the scene before him. Sam was bouncing an infant, a blanket covered in small geometric shapes tossed over his shoulder, and Dean was standing in front of him, arms outstretched, expression impatient.

“Good morning,” Castiel dared to speak, wondering how exactly this was his Heaven. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so… Crowded.

Three heads turned to him, eyes wide. The smallest one Castiel didn’t recognize; wide eyes set in a narrow face, irises two different shades. One hand was clutched into Sam’s shirt, the other fist shoved between thin lips; freckles covered the mid-section of its face, covering the bridge of its nose and splattering its cheeks.

Castiel might not recognize the infant, but it seemed to recognize him, for it pulled its fist from its mouth and screeched a happy sound into the air-- and every lightbulb in the house shattered, and the windows rattled dangerously.

Castiel flinched, hands coming to shield his head at the sound of breaking glass, while Sam hardly seemed to react.

“Seriously, dude?” He questioned the baby, who gave him a blank stare.

Castiel opened his mouth, thousands of questions on the tip of his tongue, but he hadn’t noticed Dean rushing him. Before he had a chance to react, the hunter had pulled him into an embrace, the tight circle of his arms crushing Castiel against his larger frame.

“Dean,” He smiled into the material of Dean’s shirts, hands resting lightly against the hunter’s back. Dean said nothing, and Castiel frowned, realizing Dean was trembling under his hands; he smoothed a slow palm up and down the hunter’s back, as close to comfort as he could think to provide.

“Dean?” He questioned, voice timid now. Dean didn’t say anything, but he startled Castiel when he leaned away after a second, jamming a finger into Castiel’s chest.

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

“What?” Castiel gaped, shocked.

“I spent three weeks thinking you were dead-- and you know how much I don't like feeling that way.”

“I… I'm alive?” 

Dean’s eyes softened, his frustrated expression bleeding away into something concerned and gentle. He nodded, arms sliding around Castiel's waist once more, and quietly explained the entire series of events, up until Gabriel vanished, leaving he and Sam with an unconscious Castiel and the infant fledgling. 

“You're… We’re keeping it?” Castiel couldn't hide his surprise as he glanced at the fledgling, where it was dozing happily in Sam's arms.

“Him. And… Yeah. I… I was ready to hand him over when Gabriel brought you back… I was so damn mad, thinking that that was what had almost killed you… I wanted to hate him, but… Gabriel made me think twice.”

Castiel nodded slowly, trying to process all the new knowledge he'd been given.

“How long has it been since Gabriel delivered us?” 

“A few days,” Dean shrugged. “Halloween is Saturday.”

“What’s today?”

“Thursday.”

Castiel nodded, feeling dazed. 

“You okay?” Dean worried. “I mean… This is a lot for someone who just came out of a coma,”

“I'm alright.” Castiel nodded, smiling weakly at Dean's humorous tone. “How is the fledgling?”

“Y’know, he's actually a pretty cool little dude.” Dean smiled, and Castiel recognized the same devoted expression on the hunter's face that he got when talking about Sam. It was evident he cared for the fledgling. 

Holding up a finger in a sign to wait, Dean turned, approaching Sam and making a grabbing motion. They transferred the infant with the ease of practice, Sam taking the blanket from his shoulder and tossing it unceremoniously over Dean's. Dean grunted something similar to a thanks, turning and moving slowly towards Castiel while Sam wandered out the back door.

The infant remained calmly sleeping, lip twitching once before his face settled once more into calm.

“Jack, meet Cas. Cas, meet Jack-attack.” Dean muttered, angling his arms so Castiel could better see the sleeping child.

“Jack?” He wondered, eyes flickering between Dean and the child.

“Yup. Jack Winchester. We haven’t decided on a middle name, or if we’re even going to give him one.” Dean swelled with pride.

“Donum?” Castiel replied without hesitation, deciding he quite liked the boy's effect on Dean, as if just holding the baby was enough to calm him completely. 

“Don-what?” Dean frowned.   
“Dawn-uhm,” Castiel repeated; his pronunciation of the word was awful, but it worked. 

“Donum. Jack Donum Winchester.”

“What the hell kinda name is Donum?” 

“It's Latin,” Castiel explained. “It means a gift, or an offering to a deity.”

“Donum,” Dean repeated, nodding slowly. “Alright. Okay. Suppose it's only fair enough you get to pick the middle name-- he is your kid. Donum it is.”

Castiel smiled.

Dean shifted Jack carefully from the cradle of his arms to his shoulder, the child’s weight resting on his arm, Dean's hand carefully holding Jack’s head pressed to his shoulder. Dean wandered away from Castiel, towards the living room, and the ex-angel followed. There was a document pulled up on their old desktop, and Castiel recognized it to be a birth certificate. 

“How do you spell that?” Dean asked, sitting, typing one handed, handling Jack with a kind of natural ease. 

“Jack Donum Winchester, born October fourth,” Castiel read over his shoulder. “Parents… Dean Winchester, and Castiel… Winchester?”

“Sorry, I had to put you down as mom. Figured it didn’t really matter, since you’re genderfluid or whatever.” Dean shrugged.

“What about the neighbors? People in Lawrence? We can't show them a birth certificate with the wrong names on it,”

“Sammy already made up Dan and Charles’s adoption papers.” Dean said, shrugging. “I told everyone you’ve been out of town picking Jack up and so such, instead of recovering from a whopping case of Resurrection-itis.”

“Really?” Castiel frowned.

“Yeah,” Dean’s hand twitched on Jack's back. “Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I… Figured that with no case, and everyone looking for the source of the explosion, we… I figured we would move on, leave Lawrence.”

“We still have a case,” Dean shook his head. “And if we try to run, it’ll be noticeable. It's best to just… Lay low, until everything dies down a little. It's safer for you, and it's safer for Jack.”

“We still have a case?” Castiel echoed.

“Yeah,” Dean's face fell slightly. “A couple down the street, moved in two weeks before we did… went after each other with kitchen knives about four days ago.”

“Oh.” Castiel whispered.

“Yeah…” Dean sighed. “And what's worse-- whatever compelled them to do it left their two year old twins locked in the nursery. It was two days before the police found the bodies… Damn kids were traumatized,”

Castiel’s eyes followed Dean’s, resting on Jack where he slept peacefully against Dean. Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean's, and a moment of silent understanding passed between them.

Jack was not just a new member of the family, he was a liability; Dean was very clearly attached, and Castiel already held a fair deal of fondness for the child after living with and experiencing its curious soul before it split away from him. If something were to happen to Jack, Castiel had a feeling that neither he nor Dean might be responsible for their responding actions. Similarly, if something happened to them, they would need to have a plan in place to ensure Jack's safety and comfort.

All of this was said in a brief meeting of eyes, before Dean turned away. 

“So, he has been… Manageable?” Castiel asked, curious.

“Yeah… He’s stronger than I think any of us know,” Dean shrugged, turning in the chair to face Castiel. “But for the most part, he’s a good kid… Eats well, sleeps well.”

“Good,” Castiel nodded, reaching out a tentative hand. He nearly expected Dean to pull the child away, but the hunter didn’t move when Castiel inched closer, brushing a finger gently over Jack’s sleeping cheek. “Do… We know where the vessel came from?”

“There was a, uh… Family, killed in the blast. I… Think he may have taken the baby’s suit, once the actual soul was in Heaven… I don’t know, though. Never saw a picture of the family on the news.” Dean answered.

Castiel nodded, brushing soft fingers over the child’s skin for awhile before taking a step back. Dean stood, sighing, carefully maneuvering Jack into the cradle of his arms once more. 

“C’mon,” Dean said, motioning Castiel to follow.

They ascended the stairs, Dean humming something Castiel didn’t recognize under his breath. He expected them to turn into the master bedroom, but Dean surprised him by pushing open the door on the other side of the hall, stepping into what Castiel could only explain as a makeshift nursery.

What should have been a baby’s bed was a large dresser drawer, laid in the center of the room. It wasn’t a cruel bed; there was a layer of blankets, all the potentially sharp edges padded in some manner, the center deep enough that Dean could lie Jack carefully on his back, safely surrounded by wooden walls.

There was a lamp in one corner, currently turned off, and a stack of diapers, wipes, and clothes in the other corner. 

“Sam picked up a crib yesterday-- I haven’t had a chance to set it up, yet,” Dean explained in a whisper, standing slowly, watching as Jack huffed softly, spreading his arms and legs but not waking. Castiel nodded, following as Dean slowly backed out of the room, leaving the door cracked. Without a word they moved into the master bedroom across the hall, Dean leaving this door cracked behind them as well.

Castiel sat down on the edge of the mattress, quiet as Dean sat beside him, their shoulders barely touching. They sat like this a long time, simply enjoying the silence and presence of the either, before Dean spoke.

“You think we can do this?”

“What, parent?”

“I meant hide you and him from Heaven and Hell, but yeah… That, too.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Castiel shrugged. “But… I think we’ll do fine. If anything, at least we will allow him to live…”

“I’ll try to give him a good life,” Dean muttered, and Castiel watched as the hunter’s hand found his, their fingers intermingling. “Just like I’m gonna give you one.”

“Dean,” Castiel smiled softly.

“Yeah?”

“I… Wasn’t sure how this would have been my Heaven when I awoke, it was very confusing, but… I don’t think Heaven could have rivaled what I woke to.” 

His voice was quiet, afraid. Dean smiled at him.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna say…. I wouldn’t mind a chick-flick moment or two, if you say shit like that every time.”

When Castiel turned to smile at Dean, a soft laugh on the tip of his tongue, Dean met him halfway, free hand coming to rest against the back of Castiel’s neck as he pressed his lips gently to Castiel’s parted ones. 

It was soft, and chaste, and Dean pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as he retreated.

“Sorry,” Dean apologized, seeming dazed. “I just… Wish I had done that before. Wasn’t gonna let the opportunity go again.”

“It’s alright,” Castiel smiled, drawn to Dean by the gentle but forceful hand on the back of his neck. The hunter had mischief in his eyes as he pulled Castiel closer, slanting their mouths gently together once more before Castiel could comment.

Castiel had very limited experience in sensations despite his long life, but he decided that afternoon that his favorite taste was that of Dean's smile.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of suicide and/or self harm in this chapter.
> 
> So this is a very long chapter, with a lot of fluff.... I like to load up the fluff before the road gets bumpy... So... Brace yourself, guys... The next chapter won't be as sweet. Life is never perfect for the Winchester's....

Castiel awoke to an empty bed the next morning, the cold sheets at his side telling him Dean had been gone for some time. He took only a moment to stretch and gather his bearings before wandering into the bathroom, taking care of his morning routine, and then changing into a simple T-shirt and jeans combination.

It was still fairly early, the sun hadn’t yet risen, and Castiel wondered to himself why he had awoken at such an early hour-- perhaps the coma had left him over-rested.

He didn't dwell on it, instead moving quietly across the hall and peeking into the second bedroom.

A tiny sound greeted him, Jack blinking owlishly from his drawer. Castiel smiled softly at the child, moving into the room and bending to collect the baby; he cradled it awkwardly, making sure to support the head. Jack seemed content with the hold, regardless, more focused on the fact that he now had someone's attention.

He made soft, innocent sounds as Castiel carried him slowly down the stairs, a new found caution sliding into his every step.

When they rounded the corner downstairs, Castiel half expected to see Dean or Sam at the breakfast table. He was instead greeted by a hollow house, the only sounds being Jack's soft chirps and Castiel’s breathing. The ex-angel started to get worried very quickly - it wasn't like Sam and Dean to just vanish- before he spotted a note attached to the fridge.

 _Cas,_  
_Had to go into work early. Sam’s gone for a few days-- taking a case in North Dakota. Should be home by 4:30ish. Here's Jack's schedule (bottles are in the fridge, diapers in his room)._

_Call if you need me._

_D_  
_P.S. I'm picking up a car seat and a stroller after work, so we can show Jack off around town._

Castiel smiled at the note, slowly examining the schedule below; Dean had times listed neatly beside different elements of Jack's routine. First, listed beside ‘6am’ was ‘Bottle.’

Castiel pulled one bottle from the fridge, sitting in a chair on the screened in porch while he fed Jack, burping him per Dean's instructions afterwards, and taking him upstairs once more, changing him out of pajamas and into clothes; a onesie with a candy corn on the chest-- Castiel was not surprised Dean had bought the tackiest holiday clothes he could find. 

The day went by smoothly and quickly. Castiel found that, with the help of Dean's instructions, he was actually a fairly capable parent-- and Jack was a wonderful child. Jack had a sweet disposition which gave him the tendency to be clingy. He was by no means annoying, or labor intensive, though; he hardly ever cried, and as Dean had previously said, he ate and slept without a problem. 

The little angel seemed to like Castiel, too. Whenever Castiel spoke, calling Jack by his name, the baby would grin as if upon reflex. If he wasn't smiling, he was studying Castiel with a curious intensity for one so young. He only cried once, when Castiel set him down for a moment to give his aching arms a rest.

Now, they were sitting quietly together, waiting on Dean to come home; it was nearing seven, and Castiel was debating calling his…. Friend, boyfriend, partner? They hadn't decided on a term for it. Jack pulled at Castiel's fingers where they rested upon the couch, Jack’s tiny body supported against his legs, eyes wide as he examined Castiel from this new angle. 

Castiel wondered absently what Jack was thinking-- he missed having the ability to tangle his consciousness with the fledgling’s, to understand how Jack perceived the world. 

He missed a lot of things about being an angel. 

Suddenly, the door to the the house slammed open, and Dean rolled in like a thunderhead. Castiel jumped, surprised by the forceful nature with which Dean closed the door behind himself, his expression dark and irritable. 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel attempted, and Dean glanced over, seemingly only just then to notice Castiel and Jack on the couch. His expression softened only minutely, and he bent down to remove his boots.

“Hey.” He gruffed.  
“Is everything alright?” Castiel gathered Jack up, cradling him against his shoulder as he had watched Dean do. The baby rested its chin on his shoulder, peering at the room behind Castiel as the ex-angel approached Dean.

“Everything is just friggin dandy,” Dean snapped, finally getting his boots off and then shrugging out of his coat, hanging it on the coat rack at the base of the stairs.

“Dean,” Castiel tried, but the hunter turned, expression sharp.

“Drop it, Cas.”

“You're upset. I want to help.”

“I said drop it, alright! I mean it!”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, drawing himself up to his full height. It had been awhile since Dean had used a tone like that with him, and it sparked an ingrained reaction to directly defy Dean’s order.

“Fine.” He said tersely, adjusting Jack's small frame against his chest. “We’ll be outside when you're ready to be an adult and talk through your emotions.”

Without another word, Castiel stalked past Dean, snagging his coat off the peg beside Dean's, and marching out the front door.

Inside, he heard Dean cuss, and the sound of fist meeting furniture.

Sighing, Castiel lowered himself on to the swing on the front porch, lying Jack against his legs once more. He used his coat as a blanket for the child, covering him from the autumn chill. Jack chirped and hummed his usual sounds, but they seemed less gleeful than usual, his eyes searching Castiel furiously.

“It isn't my fault he's childish,” Castiel frowned down at the child, who shoved a fist in his mouth in reply. “He simply refuses to acknowledge his feelings, and try to work through them. He’s no more emotionally mature than you, sometimes.”

Jack watched him, blinking slowly. 

Castiel sighed quietly, brushing a gentle hair over the wisps of dark hair atop Jack’s head. The baby was getting tired, Castiel could tell by his extended blinks, and before long the angel was sleeping quietly in his lap, little mouth making unconscious suckling motions around his fist as he slept.

Castiel wasn’t sure how long he sat outside before the front door opened, but the sun was making its final descent when Dean lowered himself onto the swing, a good inch between he and Castiel.

“Did… Jack have a good day?” Dean asked eventually.

“Yes.” Castiel answered, never looking at Dean.

Silence fell between them again for a long moment before Dean’s heavy sigh shook it away, the hunter leaning forward, his head falling into his hands.

“I got fired.” He announced, and Castiel finally looked over at the way Dean pulled his fingers through his hair, tugging lightly.

“Why?” He asked softly.

“I came in early today, so I could get off early… Boss swore up and down he’d let me go by four, and I was gonna go get the stroller and the car seat and come home… Son of a bitch kept me until six, and told me I needed to work tomorrow night.”

“What’s wrong with working tomorrow night?” Castiel asked, tone gentle.

“It’s Halloween, Cas! Shit, I wouldn’t care normally, but… It’s Jack’s first Halloween, and your first real Halloween and… I asked for it off the day after Gabriel brought you two back, and they told me I could have it.”

“I… Don’t see how refusing to work a day could get you fired, Dean.” Castiel admitted. 

“Well, when he told me that, I refused. And he got in my face, saying how I don’t make the rules here, and that he won’t have someone ‘like me’ trying to overstep his authority..”

“Someone like you?” Castiel echoed.

“Gay, Cas. Someone who’s gay. He got mad because I, as a gay man, was trying to tell him no.”

“You’re not gay, though.”

“Technicalities,” Dean shrugged, waving him off. “But… When he said that, I… Well I broke his nose.”

“That’s why you got fired,” Castiel muttered, sighing quietly and shaking his head.

“What was I supposed to do? Let some asshole sit and talk about how wrong it is for people to be with who they love?” Dean glowered.

“Well, you shouldn’t have hit him.” Castiel scolded. “Violence should never be the first course of action.”

“Are you kidding? It’s always my first course of action,” Dean scoffed.

“So if Jack misbehaves, or says something you don’t like, you’ll hit him, then?” Castiel responded without hesitation, watching as shock, then disgust fluttered across Dean’s face.

“Of course not,” Dean said, glancing at Jack where he slept peacefully in Castiel’s lap. “No… No, I’d never hit him.”

“Well then treat life like parenting,” Castiel shrugged. “Just be patient. If someone says something that you don’t like… Just realize that they see the world differently than you, and that they were raised differently. Hitting him was as good as stooping to his level, Dean.”

“Are you seriously Dr.Phil-ing me?” Dean snapped, and Castiel simply watched him. Dean was tense a moment before sighing, deflating once more. “Sorry,” 

Castiel nodded, extending a hand. Dean ignored it, instead moving closer on the swing until his side was pressed against Castiel’s, his head against the ex-angel’s shoulder. Castiel rested his arm along Dean’s shoulders, rubbing his arm softly.

“I’m sorry you got fired,” He said softly.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” Dean replied.

They sat in mutual silence for awhile, day bleeding into night. Castiel eventually let his head fall to the side, resting against Dean’s. The hunter hummed a quiet sound which Castiel took as approval, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile.

This was humanity.

These little fights which always blew themselves out of proportion, the bloodied nose of an auto mechanic who said the wrong thing to the wrong man, the soft silence of a family on a porch swing, the crisp air of the night-- all of these events, seemingly small to the immortal, were worth everything to a human.

“Wanna go somewhere?” Dean spoke, shaking Castiel from his thoughts. He blinked, lifting his head as Dean turned to look him in the eyes. “I mean… It’s late, and I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“You aren’t worried about money?”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head. “I’ll find another job in the next week, just you watch.”

“Well, then… I suppose, yes. Did you get a carseat for Jack?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled, all traces of the day before gone from his expression; this was the bright, happy Dean Winchester which Castiel knew and loved. “It’s pretty cool, actually. It’s a carrier with this base that you can attach it to when you put it in the car, so it’s sorta a two in one thing,”

Castiel chuckled, nodding, watching as Dean carefully stood, stretching, before he bent to scoop Jack out of Castiel’s lap, a visible calm coming over him when he held the infant. Jack stirred, fist slipping from between his lips and arm falling limply to his side, but didn’t wake.

They both put on their shoes and coats, Castiel grabbing a blanket to wrap Jack in, before locking the house up and going to the car. Dean situated Jack in the carrier with ease, eyes concentrated as he strapped the baby in and draped a blanket over him. Castiel slid into the passenger's seat, smiling in greeting when Dean slid into the driver's side. 

“Cheeseburgers?” Dean asked, and Castiel shrugged; he had no preferences. 

Dean chuckled, turning around and pushing the car down the driveway, popping in a cassette that played a quiet rock song as they drove. There wasn’t a peep from the backseat, but Castiel kept glancing at the seat, wary of how Jack might react to waking in an unfamiliar surrounding.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, “He’s fine.”

“I’m worried he might go… Angelic, if he wakes up somewhere strange.”

“If he does, no one is going to think to blame a baby for a power outage,” Dean rolled his eyes, reaching across the seat and resting a hand against Castiel’s knee. He squeezed gently, and Cas sighed, smiling faintly.

“I just worry, with so many things after him…” 

“He’ll be fine, babe. We’re gonna be with him the whole time, nothing will be able to get to him.”

Castiel turned to Dean, an eyebrow arching at the pet name. Dean blushed from the tips of his ears, the shade disappearing under the collar of his shirt. 

“Babe?” Castiel demanded.

“So that's a no, then?”

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “No. I don't dislike it, I was simply caught off guard.” 

“Kinda surprised me, too,” Dean admitted, eyes trained on the road. “I mean it just sort of slipped out.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, distracted now, glancing at Jack once more before continuing. “What are we considering this to be? Our relationship, I mean.”

Dean made a face, shaking his head. 

“I don't know, Cas,” He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable as his hand twitched on Castiel’s knee. “I'm not big on labels, man.”

“Why not? It would be nice to know what to properly refer to you as, when we’re around people who know who we are beyond our aliases.” 

“Just,” Dean frowned, opening his mouth before closing it once more, as if searching for the right words. Castiel waited patiently for him to find them.

“It's just… Once you put a label on something, it’s like you've got to start acting a certain way, or it's all gonna go to Hell, and you're gonna be a failure, ya know? When there's a label on it, there's something to break… It’s like… Jack is just Jack, and I want to keep it that way. The minute I start telling people he’s my son, there's an expectation there that I don't want to have to meet, just because everyone expects it. I don't want to have to be a big dopey bragging dad, just because I call Jack my son; I want to be what Jack wants, and what Jack needs… So he’s just Jack, and I'm just Dean, and we’re just doing what we do.”

Castiel nodded slowly, partially grasping Dean's logic. “You feel like there would be a certain expectation if I were to call you my boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Dean snorted. “Probably the expectation that we were twelve,” 

“What about my partner?”

“Better,” Dean shrugged. “But, Cas… Why can't we just be Dean and Castiel? I mean… It's worked so far. Nothing has gone wrong yet,”

It suddenly clicked with Castiel.

“You're afraid of committing.” Castiel accused. 

“No, I'm not,” Dean scoffed. 

“You are!” Castiel insisted, unsure whether he was amused or offended. “You're afraid if we establish our relationship that something will go wrong with it.” 

Dean was silent, grinding his teeth and never looking away from the road. Castiel frowned, resting his hand over Dean's atop his knee. “Dean, there's nothing wrong with admitting you're afraid.”

“Well then I'm scared, alright?” Dean bit out, swallowing hard. Castiel turned his hand over on his knee, carefully slotting their fingers together as Dean drove one handed, trying to provide comfort. “Look. I don't do the monogamous, long-term thing, Cas… but after Jack was born, when I thought you were dead for good…”

Dean’s hand tightened around his to an almost painful extent. 

“I didn't think I could do it, man… I would get up every morning, and it was just like… Like realizing you were gone, over and over again. I thought… I thought about ending it, just… Driving Baby into a lake, or letting something tear me up on a hunt… But then I thought about Sammy, and I had to try to make it look like I was okay, or that I was gonna to be… and then Gabriel drops you and Jack in my lap, and everything is okay again… I felt like I could breathe, like I wasn't just… Going through the motions. And I… I realized that maybe I liked you a little more than I thought and… I haven't felt like this since… Well, since Cassie.” 

“Cassie?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Long story,” Dean smiles weakly. “Doesn't matter now. Just… I don't want to mess this up, okay? I'm really good at just… Ruining everything. And I just want this one thing to go right,”

“Dean… If this does by chance end badly, which I doubt it will… It won't be because I called you my boyfriend, or my partner.”

Dean smiled weakly, Castiel’s humor barely reaching him as he parked outside a local restaurant and turned in his seat to face Castiel. His expression was pensive, but open; it was one of the few times Castiel could see his emotions in his face.

“Okay, _babe_?” He tried. Dean laughed, shaking his head, and leaned over to kiss him. His mouth was warm against Castiel’s, his free hand coming to rest against the angel's neck, drawing him in deeper. Their lips parted and for a moment they shared air between them, and Dean's grip on his neck tightened as he drew Castiel's bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a surprised sound. 

All too quickly, though, Dean retreated, leaving Castiel flustered and pink cheeked.

“Alright. I can deal with boyfriend, but don't you dare say the actual word to Sammy or I'll never hear the end of it.” Dean smiled, opening his door and stepping out of the car. Castiel followed after a moment, shaking off the haze of Dean's kiss, and coming around the side to watch Dean unhook Jack's carrier and slip it over his arm with ease. 

“Damn thing is heavier than it looks,” Dean grunted, closing the door and adjusting the carrier on his arm. Castiel peeked inside, watching as little Jack slept on, oblivious to the jostling movements and loud sounds as they entered the restaurant.

“Hi! How many will there be?” A pretty hostess asked. 

“Two and a half,” Dean smiled, and they followed the waitress to a booth along the edge of the dining room. They set Jack on the inside of the booth, Dean beside him, and Castiel across from them both. Dean proceeded to put his feet in Castiel's lap almost right away.

“So Sam’s gone on a hunt?” Cas asked once the hostess had left them. 

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, flipping through the menu. “Thinks he found a werewolf-- or just some pretty gnarly mountain lion attacks. Kid was getting cabin fever, he needed to be doing something,”

“He doesn't enjoy helping with Jack?”

“He does, but… Jack's pretty particular. He’ll let Sammy hold him sometimes, but most of the time he doesn't like anyone besides me or you.” 

Castiel nodded, setting his menu aside, deciding on getting whatever Dean did. 

A young waitress with blue dyed hair greeted them, eyes traveling the table and landing on Jack. 

“Oh. My. God.” She breathed, and Castiel's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. “He is so tiny! How old is he!”

The tension left Castiel in a rush, and he smiled, watching Dean's chest swell as he glanced at where Jack was sleeping.

“Three weeks,” Dean answered proudly.

“Oh, jeez! That's so young. What's his name, if you don't mind me asking? I'm not trying to pry!”

“No, it’s fine, really. His name is Jack Donum,” Dean’s grin nearly split his face. 

“Oh, how cute! Are you gonna dress him up for Halloween?”

Dean looked to Castiel, eyes wide. “We didn't get him a Halloween costume! It’s his first Halloween and he doesn't have a friggin costume! We’re failing as parents!” He cried, his expression horrified. 

The waitress giggled. “There's a Halloween store down the street that's open until midnight,” she consoled.

“We’re going,” Dean declared, and Castiel chuckled, nodding.

They ordered cheeseburgers, Dean’s without onion rings and Castiel's with fries, and they ate between conversation. It was, as Dean remarked off handedly, sort of like their first date.

Which, halfway through his fourth or fifth bite of hamburger, was of course interrupted. 

“Dan! Charles!”

“Oh, no,” Castiel groaned around a mouthful of burger, and Dean choked on an onion ring while trying not to laugh.

“Hey, Barb,” Dean greeted the real-estate agent once he’d recovered himself, and Castiel swallowed hurriedly, waving in greeting as the woman stopped beside their table. 

“Charles, I'm so glad to hear you’ve gone into remission-- I mean, what great timing, you know, with the adoption finalizing and everything?”

Castiel shot Dean a look, to which the hunter only managed a slight shrug.

“Thank you,” He attempted to sound as sincere as possible. “It is good timing. It's nice to be able to devote my time to my son without worrying about my health.”

Barb nodded gravely, before a grand smile lit her face. “Speaking of! Can I get a peek at the little guy?”

Dean nodded, motioning her to lean over as he tilted Jack's carrier just slightly.

“Oh, he sure is a tiny guy, isn't he? Oh, my… Beautiful, though. Congratulations, you two.”

Dean mumbled a thank you and Castiel smiled. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at home with your family,” Dean asked as he slid the sun-cover over Jack's carrier, limiting the amount of light or sound that reached the sleeping baby.

“Oh, I just got off work. My husband is actually meeting me here with Jason, my son. I’d love to introduce you all, if you don't mind! Jason just loves meeting my clients, he’s so curious!”

“We don't mind at all.” Dean said before Castiel could protest, and the ex-angel pinched his shin under the table.

Barb darted off into the crowd, returning only seconds later with a toddler in tow, a large man following closely behind.

She introduced him as her husband, Jeremy, and the tall man said nothing. Jason, on the other hand, asked them plenty of questions about where the lived, and if they liked it, and if his Mommy was a good “house-finder” to which Dean promptly responded “The best in the world, kid.”

While Jason was talking animatedly to Dean, Barb leaned towards Castiel.

“We’re having a kid friendly Halloween party at my house tomorrow. You and Dan should bring Jack, we would just love to have you.” She offered, and Castiel glanced at Dean, debating.

“Well, uh… Yes. We would love to,” Castiel knew Dean would be upset if he declined...

And that was how they wound up wrestling Jack into a pumpkin costume the next night, the child’s wails dying into humiliated whimpers as Dean snapped a couple of pictures of Castiel holding him on his phone.

“He's literally a Jack-o-lantern,” Dean grinned.

“Oh, stop. Can't you see he hates it?” Castiel frowned, bouncing the infant gently. Jack seemed content enough now, little hands pushing and prodding at the stuffed pumpkin costume with limited coordination.

“He’ll be fine, Cas. If he really gets upset, we can take it off.” Dean chuckled.

Dean was dressed as Dr. Sexy. It was simply, a low budget and easily prepared costume which Dean had bought alongside Jack’s last night. Castiel, despite Dean’s insistence, had no costume. He simply put on his old suit and trench coat combination, loosening his tie, deciding he would go as an accountant, if anyone asked.

“I'm an angel of the Lord. Get it?” He had joked as he came down the stairs earlier.

Dean had smiled, but there was something sad about it.

The ride to Barb's wasn't too long, but Jack cried the whole way now that he wasn't asleep for ride. Castiel practically threw himself out of the car once they parked along Barb's street, coming around to collect Jack, desperate to hush his insistent cries. 

Jack seemed to have realized, at least a little bit, how to curb the angelic bits of his personality; there were no more flickering lights, or shattering windows when he cried, only a slight ringing to his voice. It made Castiel more comfortable to have the baby out in public, knowing nothing terrible would happen when he cried.

Upon being held, Jack seemed to relax, nuzzling into Castiel's neck and staying there as Dean grabbed the make-shift diaper bag (a Jansport backpack) and slung it over his shoulder.

“Ready?” He asked, a hand resting on Castiel's waist. 

“Yes,” Castiel answered with a nod, and Dean pressed a quick kiss to his lips before leading them down the crowded street, ringing Barb's doorbell twice before little Jason answered, dressed as a Cowboy.

“Mr. Dan!” He smiled, and Dean chuckled.

“Hey, kid, where's your mom and dad?”

“Inside,” Jason led them through a grand foyer, into a crowded living room. Castiel held tight to Jack, and the child burrowed deeper into him the louder the room got, whimpering quietly. Castiel stopped, lingering near the crowd’s edge, motioning Dean to go ahead as he bounced Jack quietly.

Dean was only gone a minute or two, and Castiel found himself humming quietly under his breath, Jack relaxing. Whether it was the sound of Castiel’s voice or the vibrations, he was unsure, but he kept it up, one hand spread protectively over his son’s back.

His son.

Castiel found himself rolling the word around in his head, liking the sound of it.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his back. Castiel whirled, instincts telling him to lash out, but Dean’s voice stopped him.

“Whoa, there, papa bear. It’s just me.” He soothed, voice gentle. “No need to get smitey.”

“Sorry,” Cas smiled weakly, and Dean shrugged, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the top of Jack’s head.

“He okay?”

“I don’t think he likes the sound.” Castiel shrugged. “Did you find Barb?”

“Jason ran upstairs to get her,” Dean explained, sliding an arm around Castiel’s waist, drawing the ex-angel to him. Castiel smiled warmly, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder, Jack’s body pressed safely between them.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked against his ear, having to get close to be heard.

“Yes, thank you. How are you?” Castiel answered.

“Great,” Dean smiled. “I’m at a Halloween party with my kid. That’s a pretty great day in my mind.”

 

Castiel chuckled, nodding, when Barb’s voice called for them, and they separated, worming their way over to where Barb stood in the hall, dressed as a cowgirl to match her son. She greeted Dean with a hug, smiling at Castiel and Jack.

“Wow, Charles, I love your Constantine costume! Are you a fan?” She gushed, and Castiel shot Dean a panicked look.

It’s a comic series, Dean mouthed.

“Uh… Yes, yes. I read the comics when I was young,” Castiel answered, the statement coming off as more of a question. He heard Dean snort behind him, but Barb seemed to be fine with his reply.

“That’s awesome-- oh, look at him! He’s a Jack-o-Lantern!” 

“See! She gets it!” Dean laughed triumphantly, and Castiel shifted Jack in his arms, the baby peeking out from his shoulder now that they were in relatively quiet environment. Barb chuckled at Dean’s excitement, nodding.

“Have you all taken photos?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve got a few of him on my phone,” Dean nodded, taking the device out of his pocket.

“No,” Barb shook her head. “Have you gotten photos as a family?”

“Uh… No,” Dean frowned, glancing at Cas.

Barb held out her hand, not taking no for an answer. Dean slowly handed his phone over after setting the camera up, and Castiel glanced at his boyfriend as he came over, slipping an arm around Castiel’s waist. Cas shifted Jack so the baby was resting on his arm, legs dangling, torso leaned back against his chest, facing the camera.

Barb counted to three, and Dean surprised Castiel by grabbing his face, drawing him in for a kiss just as the flash went off.

They took several photos after that, most looking at the camera, one with funny faces. 

A few days later, Castiel would print out the one where Dean kissed him and Jack was staring wide eyed into the camera, to keep in his wallet.

They chatted idly with Barb for a while, Castiel eventually passing Jack to Dean, before most of the adults wandered out with their children to get candy. Dean opted to take Jack and go with Jason, and Castiel decided to stay behind and help Barb’s husband clean the house a bit. Dean kissed him softly on the cheek before leaving, holding Jack’s hand and waving it for him, making it look like Jack was waving goodbye; it made Castiel smile.

Barb’s husband was a quiet man, and he didn’t say anything as Castiel helped him to clean the house.

Castiel tried to start conversation a few times, remembering the man’s name was Jeremy, but he always received stony silence in return. He wished, suddenly, that he had gone out with Dean and Jack, feeling quite alone and unwanted in the house with the tall man.

An hour passed like this, Jeremy retreating to the living room the minute the cleaning was done. Castiel excused himself, sitting on the front porch, watching as children passed the house, grabbing candy from a bowl that had been set at the bottom of the driveway. It was nearing eight-thirty now, and the crowd of kids was starting to thin out, the older children now outnumbering the younger. 

Castiel was considering calling Dean when he heard a familiar laugh echoing down the lane, and he spotted Dean’s form in the distance, Barb and Jason wandering along beside him. He stood, waiting, until the group reached him. Dean looked beyond happy, Jack sleeping quietly against his shoulder. Barb looked just as pleased, holding Jason’s hand.

The young child was chattering excitedly about his candy when they reached Castiel, and he greeted Dean with a smile.

“The house is clean,” Castiel informed Barb.

“Thank you,” She smiled. “You’re a guest, you shouldn’t have done that, but thank you… Where’s Jeremy?”

“I… Don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “He… Wasn’t very talkative.”

Barb sighed. “I’m sorry about him, he’s… Moody.”

“Oh, believe me, I understand,” Castiel chuckled, earning a sharp jab in the ribs from Dean. Barb smiled.

“Well, thank you boys so much for coming, but… I’m afraid it’s bedtime for a certain cowboy,” She smiled, hefting Jason up to her hip. 

They said their goodbyes, Barb waiting until they were safely in the car and driving away to close the front door. Castiel decided, grudgingly, that he liked Barb; he wasn’t sure what to make of her husband, though.

The farmhouse was quiet when they got home, carefully stripping Jack of his costume and putting him to bed without waking him, soon collapsing in their own bed without bothering with showers. Dean laid sideways across the mattress, his head on Castiel’s stomach, and the ex-angel pushed his fingers gently through the hunter’s hair.

“Hey Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks,”

“For what?”

“Making this my best Halloween ever.” 

“It might help that you were sober, for once, but you’re welcome.” Castiel teased lightly, yawning as he closed his eyes. Dean’s laugh followed him towards sleep.

“Yeah… I don’t really think I have a reason to drink anymore.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep.

A little over a year passed. 

Life was quiet. Dean got a job repairing cars at a Chevy dealership, and the money was good. Sam built his own house when he returned from his hunt in North Dakota, the structure sitting at the back of their property; it was small, with only one bedroom, but Sam enjoyed having his own space and Dean felt better with Sam close by. 

Their lives were busy. Jack had turned one in October and he seemed to learn something new every day. He grew quickly, very much ahead of the learning curb for his age group, which Castiel contributed to his angelic nature. Despite his station ahead of other children his age, Jack was… Alarmingly normal. Any proof that he was Nephilim never presented itself, and the last time he had cried out in an angelic tone had been months ago. 

For all intensive purposes, Jack seemed to be a normal one year old human boy.

Castiel was a stay at home parent by choice, but Dean had convinced him to pursue other things, and refrain from remaining isolated in the farmhouse. He wound up pursuing art, selling his paintings and drawings from a website Sam had set up for him; it helped bring in plenty of extra money, and Jack would, incredibly, sit and watch Castiel work for hours, as if in a trance. If Jack was being particularly devious or temperamental, Castiel would simply set him in his high chair and go to work.

He and Dean were still close, but their schedules only aligned at night, when they fell, exhausted, into bed together. They barely had time to speak, let alone get anywhere near to intimacy-- they had tried, several times, always either too tired or interrupted by Jack. They agreed, eventually, to lay aside a day in the near future where they might finally bridge that gap, but the date had yet to be decided. 

It was early December, now, and Castiel had already decorated for Christmas, a tree crammed in the corner of the living room. They had collected furniture and belongings with time, slowly but surely solidifying their lives in Lawrence; they even had two phones on the kitchen wall, now-- one for their lives as Dan and Charles, and the other for their lives as Dean and Cas. The second one rang more and more frequently these days, now that the boys all limited their hunts, and there was always work that other hunters were begging them to get involved in. 

It was a cool Sunday evening, snow piling high outside, rare for this early in the year. It was nearing six, but Castiel and Jack were the only one's outside-- Dean was still at work, and Sam was busy in his own house. 

It didn't stop Jack for asking after them.

“Am-ee?” The child was trying desperately to stay on his feet as he waddled through the snow, still fairly new to the task of walking, one gloved hand clasped in Castiel’s. 

“Sam is at home, Jack.” Castiel repeated for the fourth or fifth time, letting the child lead him around the yard. Jack loved the outdoors, and Castiel was glad to support him.

“Dah-dee?”

“Daddy is at work.” 

Castiel could never stop smiling, hearing Jack call Dean ‘Daddy.’ He could still remember the first time the child had said it, his first word. They never used the term around him; they always used their names. Jack, however, had picked it up; they had been at a diner, having breakfast early one morning just before Jack's birthday. A young girl had walked by, babbling ‘Daddy’ over and over again, holding her father's hand. 

Jack had calmly examined her before turning back to table, reaching for Dean, and issuing a firm “Dah-dee.”

Dean had, of course, choked on his pancakes, spluttering and coughing before he finally managed a rough “Yeah… Yeah, that's me, kiddo.”

“Dah?” Jack’s voice brought him back to the present and he chuckled, squeezing the little boy’s fingers.

“I'm right here, Jack.” He replied, earning a series of hysterical giggles in response. 

“Jah?” Jack giggled.

“I don't know,” Castiel watched the boy's untamed glee. “Where is Jack?”

Jack again dissolved into laughter, and Castiel smiled warmly. He hadn't been sure, when he first learned of the fledgling eating his soul, what to think of his punishment. Now, however, he was even more confused; his Father knew all, saw all-- couldn't he have guessed Castiel would survive, and that he would raise Jack with the Winchester's aid? And if he had seen it, why was he allowing it to continue so peacefully, if it was a punishment?

He pondered it frequently, but never could reach an answer.

“Jack, are you sure you don't want another coat? Daddy is picking us up and taking us straight to dinner, so you won't have time to get it when he gets here.” Castiel tried to talk his son into another layer, but Jack simply shook his head and continued to trudge aimlessly through the snow until the sound of an engine caused them both to look up. Dean honked the horn as he came closer, and Jack nearly vibrated with excitement. 

“Hey, strangers,” Dean parked in front of them, driver’s side window rolled down. Castiel hoisted Jack on to his waist, leaning in the window; Dean kissed Jack’s cheek, leaning around him to kiss Castiel gently on the lips.

“How was work?” Castiel asked as he opened the back door, strapping Jack into his seat. The child babbled quietly to himself, and Castiel passed him one of the many toys scattered in the floorboard of the Impala to play with.

“Alright,” Dean shrugged as Castiel closed the back door, coming around and getting in the passenger's seat. Dean turned to kiss him a second time, humming quietly against his mouth before retreating. “How was your day?”

“Good, long. Jack asked after your perhaps seventy times,” 

Dean smirked, settling his hand on Castiel’s knee as they drove; it was a habit, developed with time. They chatted idly about unimportant matters, whether or not Castiel would sell his newest painting or hang it in their bedroom, when Dean wanted to go Christmas shopping, and whether or not they could get Sam to watch Jack so Castiel could accompany him. It was all normal, average conversation; Castiel loved it, and Dean's relaxed posture told him that he did, too. In fact, their lives had become so average these days that Castiel almost couldn't believe it.

They ate at their favorite restaurant, Jamie (the seventeen year old waitress with blue hair, who always had some sort of toy for Jack when they visited) serving them the usual with a smile. Dean complained about work, eating one-handed while he fed Jack a potent mixture of squash, carrot, and zucchini baby food. Castiel nodded, providing commentary, and they shared a slice of cherry pie. 

They drove home in content silence, and Castiel sat on the bathroom counter while Dean gave Jack a bath in the tub. He followed the two to the nursery, where Dean expertly dried Jack off, dressed him on the changing table, and handed him his favorite stuffed animal, a stuffed bear with only one eye, who had been affectionately deemed Patch. They both bent over to press a kiss goodnight to his forehead once he was in the crib, and backed slowly out of the room, turning on the sound machine before leaving; the sound of the ocean filled the nursery.

All in all, it was another satisfactory night in the Winchester home. 

Dean and Castiel showered before climbing into bed, Castiel curling into Dean's side. The hunter trailed a series of soft kisses across his jaw, mumbling something Castiel didn't quite catch before he reached for the light, turning it off. 

“Goodnight,” He yawned against Dean’s shoulder.

“Sleep tight, baby.” Dean said, giving him a squeeze. 

Castiel looked forward to sleeping, and he frequently rushed it; some part of him knew Jack was liable to wake in the night, and he would be drawn from sleep to care for his son, so he slept as much as he could. 

He felt like had only been asleep for seconds when a sound woke him that night. Dean twitched, sighing heavily in his sleep, before rolling away from Castiel as the ex-angel rose warily from the bed, yawning. A glance at the alarm clock read nearly three, and he blinked sleep from his eyes as he padded into the hall.

It was quiet in the house, and he wondered what had woken him. 

He slipped into the nursery quietly, the soft sounds of the ocean and Jack’s quiet breathing greeting him. There was a night light in the corner, beside the rocking chair, and it cast a pale yellow light across the room. Castiel leaned over the crib, watching Jack breathe, and gently brushed one dark lock of hair out of the infant's face. 

Jack seemed to look like Dean, the older he got. His freckles were dark against his fair skin, his jaw and nose sloping and curving in the same ways that Dean's did. His hair was thick and dark like Castiel’s, though, his hands long and thin as well. They looked, for quite some time, to see if a child matching Jack's description was dead or missing-- upon finding none, they decided Jack must have somehow created his own vessel. 

He was a remarkable child, Castiel thought to himself as he slowly backed away from the crib, turning once more to leave the room; whatever had woken him was nothing of import.

He was almost out of the door, one foot in the hallway, when he saw it; the closet door in Jack's room, cracked where it had been closed before; the night light barely illuminated a pair of dress shoes in the dark.

Castiel was spinning, rushing for the crib, before he could think to do anything else-- and he was suddenly thrown against the door, it slamming closed under his weight. He felt the ache blossoming between his shoulder blades, spreading slowly through his body in dull throbs.  
Slowly, a figure emerged from the closet. It was a man, tall and lithe, in a neatly pressed suit; Castiel knew well enough to identify a brother. 

“I had hoped you would leave without noticing me.” The angel spoke slowly, hands in pockets; Castiel remained pressed to the door, struggling against the angel’s will. He could hear Dean’s voice, muffled from across the hall, asking if everything was alright.

“Leave my son alone.” The words were a growl, more force and fire in his tone than Castiel had ever dared to use.

“Your son?” The angel chuckled, shaking his head as he approached the crib. Jack remained sleeping inside. “Honestly, Castiel… I was shocked to see you alive, when I inhabited this vessel and passed you on the way to complete a mission in Lawrence… Imagine my surprise to see you harboring a Nephilim child, an abomination. And you call it your son? You always were…. Unique.”

“He isn't Nephilim!” Castiel snapped, straining harder against his invisible binding as the angel reached down to touch Jack's cheek. “He hasn't displayed anything even akin to angelic abilities in months!”

He felt a push against his back-- Dean trying to get in. It came again, more forceful this time, Dean's voice calling from the otherside, no longer drowsy but panicked.

“Oh, I assure you, he is Nephilim. I can see his soul. He’s young, and naïve, this one… He actually believes himself to be a human child. He’s been subconsciously curving his angelic behavior in order to fit in among his human… Parents.”

“Don't you fucking touch him!” Castiel barked when his brother bent, slowly lifting Jack from his bed. 

Jack blinked, slowly waking, and his little eyes widened at the sight of a stranger cradling him.

He began to cry, and Castiel lashed out, fighting against the hold keeping him in place, his efforts useless. Dean was losing it, beating on the door, screaming, demanding to know what was going on. When there was no answer, it suddenly became very quiet on the other side of the door.

“You didn’t honestly believe we wouldn't find him, did you?” His brother chuckled, holding Jack still as the little boy thrashed in his hold; Castiel could tell the grip would bruise and fury was building in him. “He's a beacon, Castiel, a signal we’ve been trying to pin down for months… We would have found him sooner, if it wasn't for Gabriel's interference.”

Gabriel. 

They had tried to contact the archangel for months, but they had never received a response; he must have been protecting them. He sent a silent prayer to his brother, hoping that he would recognize the desperation in Castiel’s pleas, and chose now to actually answer him.

His heart pulled painfully, considering what might happen if the archangel didn't show.

“I'll do whatever you want,” Castiel tried to bargain. “Just let him go… He’s done nothing, harmed nothing. He’s never been exposed to anything besides humanity,”

“It is a blemish upon Heaven and Earth, a stain. It must be destroyed.” The angel shook its head, and Castiel could hear the sound of his brother's wings opening-- he was going to take Jack, take him away forever, hurt him-- 

“No!” He bellowed, just as everything exploded.

The window to the nursery exploded inward, glass flying in every direction, some pieces slashing at Castiel, and he saw Dean hurrying to climb through, angel blade in hand-- and suddenly he was dropping to the floor, the sound of wings filling the room as his brother's hold on him was relinquished. He hurried off the floor, to his feet, in time to see Gabriel glowering at their brother.

“Lariel.” He growled, the sound rumbling through the house. “Put the child down.”

 _Lariel_. Castiel remembered him to be one of the most devout, the most righteous; he knew, no matter what Gabriel said, Lariel would not leave without the child. 

Castiel devised a plan. 

While Lariel was focused on Gabriel, and how to escape the archangels wrath, Castiel was slowly inching towards him, vibrating with energy; if he had to make a dive for Jack, he could do it.

“I cannot, Gabriel… You used to be one of the best, you know? I don't know what about this… Creature, empowered you to turn your back on what is right.”

“That creature is my nephew,” Gabriel spoke over Jack's insistent cries. “And I don't think you'd understand what made me change my mind… the stick of holy righteousness is shoved too far up your ass,” 

Castiel stilled, watching Lariel’s grip loosen just barely on Jack in his shock and-- 

Dean was springing forward before Castiel could make a move, blade aimed for the space between Lariel’s ribs, one hand grabbing for Jack--

And Lariel sent Dean flying through the far wall with the toss of his wrist, expression pained as he glanced at the cut on his side where it was leaking grace; Castiel could hear Dean’s body rolling down the stairs on the other side of the wall, barely make out his crumpled form on the foyer floor.

He’s not sure what happened next. 

He remembers only the feel of Dean’s fallen angel blade in his hands, Gabriel shouting at him to stop, and the satisfying sound the blade makes when he buries it in Lariel’s throat. 

Everything between that and Dean's fall is a blur.

He watches Lariel die, the white lights of his eyes burned into the back of his mind-- and suddenly he is collapsing in on himself, a rush of weak dizziness falling over him and pitching him to the floor. His head aches, almost as if it will split in two, and sight and sound is almost too much for him to handle for a moment. He feels like he might be sick, and he is-- he rolls to his side, vomiting on the nursery floor, and somewhere in the distance he hears Jack crying.

He lays there, breathing, the room spinning around him, and he can hear Gabriel hushing Jack softly.

Jack stops crying.

The house is silent.

The headache slowly retreats to a dull throbbing sensation, and Castiel manages to stand. His chest hurts, and he lifts his shirt to see his ribs colored black and blue. Did Lariel hit him?

“There’s stories of guardians who fall from grace,” Gabriel spoke, and Castiel turned, noticing Gabriel in the doorway, Jack held easily in his arms, the baby sleeping-- he wondered if Gabriel had used grace to help him get there. “But when their charge needs them, they can do… Incredible things. Things only an angel should be able to do... Lariel almost tore a hole through you, and you didn't even flinch.”

“Is Jack okay?” Castiel rasped, eyeing his son.

“He’s fine. Sleeping.”

It’s all the permission Castiel needs, and he’s rushing down the stairs, nearly falling down the last couple of steps. Dean is still on the foyer floor, but still breathing as Castiel kneels beside him, carefully turning him on to his back. There’s a gash across his forehead that’s bleeding, a few cuts and bruises that Castiel can see, but the worst injury appears to be his arm, where he landed on it-- the bone is protruding from his skin, and Castiel nearly gags at the sight.

He’s aware of Gabriel, whose drifted down the stairs behind him.

“I called an ambulance,” The archangel says.

“What?” Castiel rasps, turning to look at him, surprised. “Why… Why can’t you heal him?”

“I don’t have energy to spend on it, Castiel…” He sighs, glancing at Dean’s unconscious form. “Lariel had to have alerted others to Jack… They’ll be coming, if they aren’t already on their way. I have to save what energy I have to protect you and him.”

“Heal him, and we’ll go.”

“I _can’t_.”

“Why not!” Castiel demands, standing. His head throbs, black spots dancing in his vision, but he stands his ground, glaring at his brother.

“Because I’m _falling_!” 

The words hang heavy between them, Gabriel’s eyes sharp and dark as he examines Castiel. The man suddenly feels small under the gaze, and he looks to his feet.

“Because you saved me?”

“Because I saved you both.”

Castiel wants to apologize, to repair the damage he had clearly done to his brother-- but he knows, deep down, that the decision was Gabriel’s to make, and the fault was not truly his own. 

“You can’t heal him?”

“No. Not if I want to get you and Jack to safety, too.”

“And you think they’re coming, now?”

Gabriel nodded, gravely. 

Castiel had a decision to make, and he knew, when Dean woke up, he would be furious.

“Go.” He whispered. It was the hardest syllable he had ever had to utter, the worst kind of pain settling low in his gut.

“What?” Gabriel blinked.

“Go… Take Jack, and just… Go. I can’t leave Dean like this, he’s vulnerable.”

“Castiel, I can’t--”

“Carrying me around will slow you down, and you know it. I’m human now, I’m more of a liability than anything… Jack is safer if you take him and run.”

“The kid doesn’t know me, Cas.” Gabriel shook his head. “He’ll be traumatized-- I’m taking him away from the only family he’s ever known.”

“Once I know Dean is alright, and we’re on the road, I’ll pray to you.” Castiel said, winding his arms tightly around himself. He was beginning to shake, realizing what this meant; he was placing his son’s life in Gabriel’s hands, with no idea how long it might be before he saw him again.

“Cas… Are you sure?” Gabriel frowned.

Castiel wasn’t sure of anything, but he nodded. 

“Just… Grab some clothes from his room, and the diaper bag on the closet floor… He, uh… He eats baby food, and I’m sure you can dig around his memories a little and get an idea of his schedule..” Castiel tried to think what to say, but his brain was full of mush, his head aching as bad as his heart.

“Here,” Gabriel slowly handed Jack to Castiel, and the angel took the baby, cradling him close. Jack smelled like lavender scented baby-soap, and fabric softener. He was warm, and solid, and real in Castiel’s arms as Gabriel vanished to put together a bag, and Castiel felt a familiar ache blooming in his chest, under the bruises Lariel had left upon his body.

It was loss-- he was loosing Jack, wasn’t he?

“I have to take care of your Daddy,” He whispered into the baby’s soft hair, swallowing thickly. “I have to make sure he’s okay, but I need to keep you safe, too… So I’m sending you away with your Uncle Gabriel for awhile… I promise, Jack, Daddy and I will come get you as soon as we can, alright?” 

Jack slept on, oblivious, and Gabriel appeared before him just as the sound of sirens drifted to Castiel’s ears.

He passed Jack to Gabriel, feeling oddly numb.

“I’ll keep him safe, Cas.”

“I know.” Castiel’s eyes never left Jack, until the two suddenly vanished, and he was standing alone in the living room with his unconscious boyfriend.

When the paramedics burst through the front door, they knocked a picture frame off the coffee table in their rush to treat Dean; Castiel watched, numb, as the framed photo of their family, taken a little over a month ago in the backyard, fell to the floor and shattered.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the brevity of this chapter. My brain is fried thanks to school.

Friends and coworkers sent flowers. They crowded Dean's hospital room, covering every surface, small cards tucked into each bouquet wishing him well. Barb had even sent two stuffed bears, one for Dean and the other for Jack; Castiel put them away. It hurt too much to look at them.

It had been two days since Gabriel spirited Jack away into the night, two days since Dean was injured. He told everyone that Jack was with family until everything calmed down, as close to the truth as he could get and avoiding media attention. 

Dean had yet to wake. He had a concussion that the doctors had quickly diagnosed, monitoring him religiously until the minor swelling in his brain died away. His arm was broken, and had required surgery to repair; he wouldn't be able to use it for awhile, but at least besides that and his concussion, the worst injuries he had were bruises and scrapes. While he slept, Castiel wandered. Standing beside his bed, listening to the soft sound of his breath and the clicks and beeps of the monitor, was driving him to insanity. 

So, he wandered.

He walked the halls of the hospital, smiling weakly at those who passed. He ached, bruises coloring his chest and abdomen that only he knew of. Sam came to visit frequently, and kept in contact with Castiel through text when he wasn't there, but most of his time was spent at the farmhouse, repairing the damage and packing things into boxes to be sent to the bunker, where their base of operations would return to. They couldn't stay here, in Lawrence; the careful life they had built was crumbling around them, and Castiel hated it. 

Castiel was spending a rare moment in Dean's room, hands trembling around a paper cup of coffee as he watched the second snowfall of the year outside the window. He didn't remember the last time he slept, the last time he felt okay long enough to sleep. The plastic chair beside Dean's bed was too uncomfortable to sit in, and lying down made his chest ache. He knew he should probably let a doctor look at him, something might be broken, but some twisted part of him considered the pain penance for his inability to protect his family. 

Sam had texted, planning on taking their possessions to the bunker today, and told Castiel to let him know when Dean woke up. Castiel had replied with a simple thumbs up emoji and left it at that. 

“Cas?” The voice was small behind him. Castiel turned, heart lurching in his chest, watching Dean struggle to sit up. He quickly set his coffee aside and moved to Dean's bedside, placing gentle hands to his shoulders and pressing him carefully back into the pillows.

“You need to keep still,” He urged, and Dean leaned back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed once more.

“What the hell happened?” He managed after a second, and Castiel gently pushed the hunter's hair away from his eyes. 

“You were thrown through a wall,” Castiel kept his voice even and calm, perching on the edge of the hospital bed. “You have a concussion, and a broken arm. A lot of bruising, too.”

Dean shook his head slowly, eyes opening once more to look at Cas. “I meant what happened to you. Where's Jack?”

“I… Don't know. I don't remember much,” He admitted, sitting with as good of posture as he could manage, trying to keep his chest from bothering him. “Jack is safe.”

“Where is he? I want to see him. Poor guy is probably traumatized.”

“You can't see him, Dean.”

“Why not?” 

There it was-- the caution, the tenseness to Dean's voice that Castiel had been waiting for. He braced himself, half expecting Dean to scream and rage, to hate him.

“I… Don't know where he is.”

“You _don't know_?”

“I… I told Gabriel to take him and run. Dean, I'm sorry...” And, suddenly, Castiel is crying.

It's the first time he has ever cried. His throat becomes so tight he can't breathe, his vision blurring. He thinks at first he might be fainting, but when he blinks and feels the wetness on his cheeks, he understands. The tears come freely, and without permission, and his breath jerks painfully through his bruised chest, forcing the tears to come stronger. 

He suddenly understands why Jack cried so much, when he was little; emotions were strong things, and sometimes you can't control them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean had struggled into a sitting position, expression panicked as he watched the ex-angel trying to mute his tears on his bedside. “Cas, calm down, alright? No use in getting worked up.”

“I sent our son away God only knows where with an angel whose grace is failing, because I couldn't be a decent enough parent to leave you behind!” Castiel didn't understand what he was saying, but the words flooded forward, hanging heavily in the air between them. 

Dean’s expression is worried, and he moves forward on the bed, wrapping his arms around Castiel even when the ex-angel fights to slide out of his grasp. He holds on tight with his good arm, his casted arm draped heavily against Cas’s back, and his chin atop his lover's head. Castiel fights for a moment, body pulsing and aching, before he sags against Dean, the quiet sobs still trembling his frame.

Dean sways slightly with Castiel in his arms, and he wonders passively if Dean is trying to be soothing, or he’s actually swaying with the effort of sitting up.

“You did the right thing, Cas,” Dean says after a while, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s hair. “Yeah, I wish one of us was with Jack, but… You did the right thing. You got Jack out of harm's way, and stayed to make sure I was okay… That's not being a bad parent, that's just… Caring about your whole family.”

Castiel nodded weakly, and Dean gently lowered them both to the mattress, his arms remaining locked tightly around Castiel. 

“You okay?” He asked after awhile. Castiel had begun to doze against his chest, his body finally giving in to exhaustion, but Dean's voice woke him.

“I think so… Sorry,” He rasped. Dean shook his head.

“You’re fine, Cas… Happens to the best of us,” He whispered, tracing a hand up Castiel’s side; the ex-angel flinched, and Dean must have seen the color drain from his face.

“You’re hurt.”

It wasn’t a question.

When Castiel did not reply, Dean began pulling at his shirt, yanking it up to reveal splotches of black, purple, and yellow skin along his rib cage, and a particularly dark spot on his chest. Castiel could tell by Dean’s silence that he was upset, but he only ran a soft hand over the bruises, touch feather light, before tugging Castiel’s shirt back down.

“It’s probably just a fracture, if that… If it starts to hurt to breathe, tell me. The last thing I need right now if you getting pneumonia,” Dean sighs, and Castiel nods, turning his face into the hunter’s neck.

“Are you angry?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Dean sighs.

“I brought this upon us…”

“You didn’t chose to have Jack, Cas.” Dean frowned. “And you didn’t lead Douchey-wings to him… We just… Got too comfortable, we got sloppy.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Castiel rasped, and Dean nodded.

“I don’t, either, but…”

“We can’t stay.” Castiel finishes.

Dean nods, and they don’t say much after that.

Dean is released the next day, and they arrange to meet Sam at the bunker; Castiel drove, and Dean dozed, his arm and his head clearly bothering him despite painkillers. It was a good four hours to the Bunker, and they made it just before sunset, parking the Impala in its usual spot, hidden away from the world. Castiel helps Dean out of the car, and Dean doesn’t let go of his hand as they move inside, everything lit and humming as if they had never left.

“Sammy!” Dean calls out, his voice echoing, and he finally releases Castiel’s hand as he drops heavily into one of the chairs beside the war-table. Castiel takes his usual position at Dean’s back, listening as there’s a sound and Sam wanders in from down the hall.

“Hey,” He greets, trying to smile. “How ya feeling?”

“Just dandy. Everything good? Traps are up to date, no scratched sigils?”

“Everything is fine, Dean,” Sam rolls his eyes, but neither of them miss Dean’s tone; he means business. Reflexively, Castiel and Sam take their seats across and beside him.

“What’s the plan?” Sam asks, arms crossed.

“I don’t know,” Dean admits, brows furrowed as he kicks up his feet on the war table, leaning back in his chair. “I was hoping we would would fly under the radar until Jack was at least old enough to go to school… But now every angel, demon, and in between knows we’re harboring a Nephilim. There’s not much of a plan we can make, besides never stepping foot outside again.”

“I know you won’t like it, but… Maybe leaving him with Gabriel for a few years is… It’s the safest thing to do,” Sam says.

“No.” Dean and Castiel reply almost instantly, and Sam frowns.

“Gabriel is falling from grace,” Castiel adds. “He’ll be human, eventually, and he won’t be able to protect Jack anymore…”

“Well then what do we do?” Sam sighs.

“We bring him here,” Dean shrugs. “There’s nowhere else on the planet he’ll be safe… We’ve got enough wards, enough weapons here… Nothing will break in. We wait for him to get a little older, teach him how to fend for himself.”

“We can’t keep him locked in here all the time,” Castiel frowns. “He’s a young boy, he needs interaction..”

“Would you rather he went on playdates, or we kept him alive?” Dean demanded.

“Keeping him locked in an underground bunker his entire life wouldn’t be much of a life,” Castiel argued, crossing his arms belligerently.

“We can’t send him to school, Cas! He’d be a walking target, and none of us would be there to protect him!”

“Uh, guys…”

Two heads turned, giving Sam twin glares.

“A teaching license isn’t that hard to forge… I mean… Cas could teach at whatever school he’s at, that way one of you is always there with him, but at just enough of a distance that Jack gets some freedom.”

Dean and Cas exchanged looks. They didn’t really need to worry about it now, Jack was still a few years from school age, but… It could work.

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess,” Dean sighed, massaging his temples. “But, for now, can we all just agree that the safest place to have Jack is here?”

“Yes,” Sam and Castiel chorused, and Dean nodded.

“Fine, then… Cas. Go get Gabe,” He said, pointing to the exit. Castiel nodded, standing and walking back up the stairs and out of the bunker-- the wards were such that not only would Gabriel not be able to get in, but his prayers to Gabriel wouldn’t go out, either.

He’d only just begun to pray to his brother when Gabriel was there, looking exhausted, Jack clutched in one arm and his diaper bag tossed over the opposite shoulder. Jack was wide awake and alert, looking for all the world like a frightened deer, clutching to Gabriel’s shirt, eyes darting nervously.

It broke Castiel’s heart.

“Jack,” He called softly, and the little head swiveled in his direction, eyes widening to an impossible extent.

“Dah!” He cried, practically launching himself out of Gabriel’s arms, and Castiel held him close, inhaling the familiar scents of baby soap and fabric softener as he rubbed a soothing hand over Jack’s back, breathing out his first true sigh of relief in days. 

“He’s fine. Just… A little shaken up. We’ve had several encounters,” Gabriel said, pulling a hand through his hair. Castiel frowned, swaying gently with Jack in his arms.

“Are you alright, Gabriel?”

The archangel winked, but there was not the usual confidence in his expression. “You know me. I’ll always be the last one standing. I’ll check in later,”

And before Castiel could even offer him a place to rest, Gabriel was gone.

Castiel sighed, picking up the diaper bag Gabriel had left in his place. Jack clung to him, little fingers like iron where he gripped Castiel’s shirt. Castiel hummed softly to him, wishing for all the world he could take any memory of this horrible week away from his son.

“Dah-dee?” Jack whimpers.

“He’s inside, Jack,” Castiel soothes.

“Am-ee?” 

“They're both inside. We’re going to go see them.” He kisses the little boys forehead as he slides into the bunker, closing the door. Jack flinches at the sound, and Castiel moves slowly down the stairs, setting the diaper bag aside. Dean and Sam are both on their feet, but hesitant to move forward. Castiel stops a few inches from them, waiting.

Eventually, Jack slowly peeks out from his shoulder, looking around, before he spots Dean-- and errupts into tears anew, screaming “Dah-dee!” And clambering gracelessly into Dean's arms. Dean clutches him, face pressed into Jack's hair, and Castiel thinks he might be crying.

“Hey, buddy… Hey, it's alright. I gotcha,” He whispers, swaying with Jack, who peeks over his shoulder, reaching out a hand, which Sam comes to hold. They stay like that, the three of them, for a long time, before Jack seems to notice Dean’s cast.

“Dah-dee?” His tone is questioning.

“Huh? Oh, it's nothing, bud. Just a scratch. I’ll have this thing off in a few weeks,”

Jack watches him, studying the cast-- and then Jack does something incredible.

The little boy reaches out, pressing the heel of his hand to Dean's forehead, and his blue and green eyes flash white, a soft hum filling the air and light washing over Dean's body in a wave.

Castiel nearly panics, and Sam is wide eyed.

Dean simply stares at the boy in his arms as Jack leans back, expression serious. 

“Cas, did he just…” Dean rasps.

They unwrap Dean's arm later, once they finally get Jack down for a nap, all of them holding their breath.

There, where bone protruded days ago, was nothing but a fine scar at Dean's elbow to ever suggest the limb was broken in the first place.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so sick. I woke up so MISERABLY sick this morning. It's disgusting. But-- I got the chapter done! Forgive me if there are any oddities or anything. Also-- first time writing anything even _close_ to smut, so... Don't judge.
> 
> **KINDA NSFW WARNING AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER**

Christmas comes quickly, but Jack is hardly adjusted to the bunker by then. The infant spends hours every day pulling Dean or Castiel by the arm, leading them room to room, trying to figure out his new home. They have to baby-proof every surface they can, putting all the weapons out of reach or locking them away, and they manage - within a week or two - to convert the bedroom across the hall from Castiel and Dean’s into a nursery. 

They hang a photo of their small family standing outside of the house in Lawrence above Jack’s crib, per his request.

Castiel hates the bunker. It feels cold and nothing like the home they had built in Lawrence. He tries to enjoy it, to hang pictures of Jack and the rest of the family, placing a Christmas tree in the library, trying to give it personal touches-- he wants to make the bunker a home, but it just feels empty. 

It reminds him of war, of sadness.

All they had ever known in the farmhouse was joy.

Castiel likes to think he’s discreet with his dislike of their new situation, but he knows it’s anything but. 

As for Dean, well… Things had become much different. Dean still watches Castiel and Jack like a hawk, but his usual calm and humorous attitude is replaced by constant, quiet, brooding. They shared a bedroom, but Dean stopped coming to bed a few nights after they moved in. Castiel couldn’t stand to lay alone on their king sized mattress, and he spent a great deal of his nights in the spare bedroom next door to Jack’s nursery, staring at the wall until sleep claimed him.

Sometimes he would spend the day with Dean, the two of them entertaining Jack, but the days where he didn’t see Dean at all were becoming more and more frequent, Sam stepping in to help with Jack while Dean had vanished to unknown places. He wants to approach him, to seek out the problem and solve it, but he doesn’t have the heart.

Tonight, it’s Christmas Eve. 

It’s the first night that all of them eat together at the table in the bunker, and Jack fills the silence with quiet chatter or song, sometimes humming to himself when he had food in his mouth.

Dean sits across from Castiel, Jack to his right and Sam to his left.

It seems like a world of distance, and Castiel doesn’t know what to do to bridge the gap-- why the gap was there, even.

They eat quickly, and Sam offers to do the dishes; Dean takes Jack into his arms, kissing the infants temple and mumbling something about bath and bedtime before drifting down the hall.

Castiel finds himself wandering to the stairs, stepping quietly outside of the bunker, the cool air of the night brushing his skin as he shuts the door behind himself. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and a full moon casts the world in a soft glow. He sighs, crossing his arms, letting his head fall back; his eyes close, the stars swapped for the plain black view of the back of his eyelids.

“Father,” He says aloud. “I don’t know what to do… I don’t know know what you expect of me.”

For there was an expectation, Castiel had decided. There was a reason Joshua had come to him, a reason Gabriel had decided to save him, a reason why he and Jack were coexisting in careful tandem. Castiel had decided, with time, that the expectations stretched far beyond that, even-- there was a reason he was sent to collect the Righteous Man from Hell, a reason why he was assigned to protect the same man… A reason why he was in love, and a reason why his love, his loyalty had ultimately thrown him into the deepest dredges of humanity. 

Castiel opens his eyes, praying for divine intervention, but the night is still.

Castiel feels, not for the first time, entirely useless; without Heaven, without the abilities his grace warranted him, what use was he in this fight? What use was he to the Winchester’s, to Dean, who seemed to have lost his affections? To Jack, who had exuberant amounts of grace trapped inside him, and no one to teach him how to wield it?

What use was he to a God who wouldn’t even speak to him?

“Those who question their faith often find it to lead them the farthest,” A sudden voice says to his right, and Castiel turns to see Joshua, moving slowly towards him.

“You.” Castiel says, and it’s all he can say-- he has no weapons, and he’s outside the protective warding of the barrier. He’s an easy target.

“Hello, Castiel.”

“If you’ve come for Jack, good luck.” Castiel spits. “He’s safe beyond that door. Nothing can get in.”

“Jack,” Joshua repeats the name, nodding slowly to himself as he stops a foot away from Castiel, hands pressed casually into his pockets. “No. I haven’t come for Jack… Your prayer called me.”

“I didn’t pray to you,” Castiel says.

“But you did pray to Him, and he is listening.”

“You honestly expect me to believe that?” Castiel laughs, and it’s bitter. “Where was he when Lariel tried to take Jack from me, when I was _dying_ , when Gabriel saved my life and was _condemned_ for his actions?” 

“He is not… Readily available, Castiel, nor does he have control over the choices made in Heaven. His position is… Sensitive, so he sends me to his bidding.”

“You’re his mercenary. Wherever you go, death and chaos follow.” Castiel accuses.

“Think of me what you will,” Joshua tips his head towards his shoes, expression passive. “But I come only to tell you that He asks you to have patience.”

“I have no more!” Castiel’s shout echoes. “I built a human life worth living, and it was ripped away from me, from my son! I am adapting to the punishments he gave me, and you dare to tell me I need to have more patience?”

“You are emotional in your humanity,” Joshua frowns.

“I am honest.” Castiel snarls. “I can see, for the first time, that the Father which I spent so long serving has no idea what he did when he conditioned his children, the angels, not to feel... He has no grasp on the state of humanity, on the pain which was inflicted upon them when they were tempted within the Garden, and they were allowed knowledge of things not even He can experience. He should have burned the whole thing down then-- because this, this life, is not worth the agony of knowledge, and self-awareness.”

Joshua smiles, and it gives Castiel pause.

“Castiel… You are young, among many of us,” Joshua says, and his voice is fond. “Yet, your knowledge… Your curiosity and your empathy, even when you walked among us as an angel, it was… More than He Himself knew of his own creations. He saw you from a young age, followed you, guided you to Dean Winchester… You were always his favorite.”

“I was _flawed_.”

“You were _perfect_.” Joshua corrects. “You carried the weight and duty of an angel, but you allowed humanity and emotion to guide you… You were His child and His favorite creation, combined.”

Castiel stared, studying Joshua carefully; there was a desperation to his eyes, a change in his tone that confused Castiel. The angel stepped closer, his eyes boring holes into the very center of Castiel’s being.

“You say He does not understand the inflections which He has imposed upon the angels, the humans… He is attempting to understand both, through you.”

“What?” Castiel frowns, unable to follow Joshua’s logic.

“Remain faithful, Castiel, please… His situation is such that He… Doesn’t know Himself, His power… You are all that stands between Him and His own creations. He needs you to remain faithful to Him, now more than ever.”

Joshua’s eyes move fleetingly to the bunker door, and realization strikes Castiel nearly to the core.

He can’t breathe.

“You mean…” He rasps, suddenly bracing his hands against his knees, and he feels as if he might be sick. He hangs his head, breathing hard, but when he looks back up, Joshua is gone, and he is standing alone.

He can hardly wrap his head around the idea that has taken root in his mind, the possibility of something so potentially Earth-shattering. He paces for a while, pulling his fingers through his hair, before deciding the cold is too much, and heading back in the bunker, trying to hide the trembling in his hands.

Sam is reading quietly when he enters the library, lowering himself into a chair near the Christmas tree. The lights blink at him, twinkling in intervals, and he watches his own reflection in a cheap plastic ornament.

“You okay? You were out there for a while,” Sam says conversationally, marking his place on the page and setting his book aside. Castiel debates with himself for a moment before shrugging, nodding.

“Yes. I just needed some air.”

“Alright,” Sam nods, returning to his book.

Castiel nods to himself, watching his reflection. Part of him is vibrating with energy, desperate to tell Sam the news that was circling rapidly in his head. Another part of him is weary, dragging at the very core with the prospect of the task ahead of them, and he wants to shut the world away.

None of it seems to matter anymore when he sees Dean in the reflection of the ornament, standing in the doorway to the library, watching him. Every thought leaves his mind, replaced instead with a nervous whisper; Dean?

“Um,” Dean clears his throat, and Castiel turns, as if he’d only just seen him in the doorway. “Hey, uh… Can I talk to you?”

Sam doesn’t look up from his book as Castiel meets Dean in the doorway, and the hunter leads him away to their bedroom, ushering him inside and closing the door quietly. Castiel props himself carefully on the edge of the mattress, watching as Dean hovers near the door.

“I’m sorry,” He says, and his voice is nearly pained at the expression. Castiel tilts his head to the side, eyes questioning. “For, uh… Being a dick, lately.”

“You haven’t been a… dick. You’ve been distant,” Castiel shrugs, bending to untie his shoes before setting them aside. Dean copies the action before coming to sit beside Castiel on the bed, a careful inch or so of space between them.

“Yeah, I, uh… I’ve been pretty wrapped up in this whole thing with Jack,” Dean admits. “I’ve been asking around for Nephilim lore, or anyone who knows some, reading what I can… Asking for extra protections in the area, in case… In case something goes down. I didn’t realize I was being so distant, until Sam called me out...”

“Is that where you’ve been vanishing to?” 

“Yeah,”

“Jack misses you.” 

The words settle between them, and there’s a pause before Dean’s hand slides across the blankets, finding Castiel’s knee.

“Did you?”

Castiel turns, his weight shifting towards Dean on the bed, and they meet somewhere in the middle, Dean’s arms finding their way around his middle, and his arms encircling Dean’s neck, his lips pressing gently to the hunter’s jaw.

“Yeah,” He sighs, and Dean kisses him.

The kiss is soft, but Castiel doesn’t mistake the force behind it. Dean’s hands are gripping carefully at his back, nails pressing into skin through the fabric of his shirt, and Castiel’s fingers slide into the hunter’s hair. They kiss with the same desperation as always, as if it's the last time they’ll ever kiss each other, and when Castiel leans away to gather his breath, Dean chases after him, urging him further up the bed and lowering him softly into the blankets.

He rests easy in the cage of Dean’s arms, his hands gently framing the face hovering above his own. Dean’s lashes cast heavy shadows across his cheeks in the dim glow of the light on the bedside table, and he’s watching Castiel with an expression the ex-angel has never before seen on his lover’s face.

Rising softly off Dean’s arms and the blankets, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lover’s mouth.

When he lays back down, Dean is on him, mouth drifting over whatever skin he can find, and electricity hums quietly through Castiel’s body. He can feel it, centering from each point of contact with Dean above him, spreading slowly until it consumed him from scalp to toes. He has no way to describe the sensation, but he doesn’t fear it; he hums softly at the pleasure of it, and he feels Dean smile against his neck.

“Alright,” Dean sits up, suddenly, weight resting against Castiel’s thighs. “Up.”

Castiel sits up obediently, allowing Dean to rid him of his shirt, and helping Dean to remove his own. For a moment, Dean looks disheveled, hair staticed and mused by the removal of the shirt. It only distracts Castiel for a moment, because Dean’s hands are on him again, tracing slowly over his ribs and down each knob of his spine. Castiel remains sitting, hands braced against the bed behind him for balance. Dean shifts against his hips, and an involuntary sound punches its way out of his lungs.

Castiel finally identifies the sensations rolling through him in waves when Dean flushes; arousal.

Castiel chooses to ignore his discovery, instead resting his hands against Dean’s hips, the winged bones surprisingly solid within his grasp. Dean leans forward, kissing him again, and for a moment this is enough; the gentle biting, the way Dean hums against his mouth, hips pressing forward in Castiel’s grip.

When they break apart, they’re both breathing hard, and Dean glances at their laps, eyes frantic when he meets Castiel’s gaze a second later.

“Are we doing this?” He demands.

Castiel reaches for his belt in the only answer he can think to give, and Dean barks a laugh.

Soon enough, they’re both naked atop the blankets, exposed to each other for the first time in the soft light of the bedroom. Castiel wishes it was profound, or altering, but it simply seems… Normal. Welcome. He drinks in the sight of Dean, spread before him, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing as he reaches in the nightstand drawer, fumbling around for awhile before coming away with what Castiel quickly gathered were condoms and lubrication.

“Are we _actually_ doing this?” Dean repeats, and Castiel can see the doubt in his face when he sets the supplies on the blankets between them.

“Do you… Not want to?” Castiel offers, though, if he’s got this figured out right and he’s looking at everything the right way, Dean is definitely attracted to him.

“No,” Dean says, almost too quickly. “I mean… I want to do this. Fuck, I do. I just… Don’t want to push you into anything, and I mean… I’ve never really…”

“Engaged in sexual conquest with another male?”

“I’ve never _bottomed_ for another guy,” Dean confesses, and Castiel discovers that Dean’s blush reaches nearly to his belly button. Castiel reaches for him, and Dean comes easily, their bodies pressed together, mouths meeting in a slow and careful roll.

“Dean,” Castiel says, petting a hand through the hunter’s hair. “If you would like to… _top_ , I wouldn’t be bothered. I have no experience in this field, so I’m open to anything.”

The relief in Dean’s face is nearly tangible, and he handles Castiel with careful force from that point forward, until he’s on his stomach, Dean at his back, and they're joined by a careful series of contacts.

Castiel finds his faith, his new religion; he sees the rapture in Dean’s face when the hunter moves above and inside him, and the soft words of praise he rains down upon the ex-angel become his new gospel. He holds tight to this moment, desperate to live in it forever, to feel as if there is something worth believing in, and Dean’s body holds the key.

Despite his efforts, he feels the moment coming to its end. Dean touches every part of him, but it’s not the touches that truly bring Castiel to ecstasy-- it’s Dean’s mouth, pressed softly against the shell of his ear, and the soft words that break against his eardrums as Dean falls over the edge.

“Love you,” He gasps, and his fingers find Castiel’s where they’re gripping the blankets.

He doesn’t see or feel anything beyond warm, white light for some time. He comes to to the feel of Dean, rolling away from him, on to his side; there’s only a brief pause in which he turns off the bedside light before he draws Castiel in, and the ex-angel presses his face into the hunter’s sweat-damp chest, listening as Dean again utters the words.

“I love you,” He says, and Castiel rests an arm over his waist as the hunter tugs the sheets over their naked bodies.

“I love you, too, Dean.”

Dean falls asleep shortly after, and Castiel listens to his heart beat, where it pumps along under his ear. He tightens his grip and closes his eyes in the dark, wondering if he will ever doubt his new found faith the way he has his first one. He wonders, curling closer to Dean in the dark, how he can maintain his faith in their son, after everything he had been put through…

He wonders, as he drifts to sleep, how he’s going to tell Sam and Dean that Jack is, unbeknownst to himself, God.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried going to work today. I was on the clock for a whole 40 minutes before my boss made me go home because I literally have no voice, and I've pulled a muscle in my chest from coughing-- Bronchitis is still really kicking my ass, in short terms.
> 
> Really short chapter, but I really wanted to get something out. I'm enjoying writing this fic a lot.
> 
> Also. Considering a Captain America fic. I already have the first chapter-- not sure if I should post it. Any takers?

They both wake much earlier than usual, swapping their presents quietly while sitting on the library floor in front of the tree. Dean is in only a pair of loose fitting pajama pants, Castiel clad in one of Dean's shirts and a pair of boxers. They lean against each other, still not entirely awake, and exchange gifts.

Castiel gave Dean a cook book, hoping to encourage a hobby that wasn't hunting, and a necklace. It wasn't complicated, or frilly; it was a simple leather cord with a small, silver plate about the size of a nickel at its center. It was engraved in Enochian, spelling out Dean's name. Dean smiled, turning it over in his hands a second before slipping it on over his head without a word and beginning to leaf through the cookbook.

Dean gave Castiel an iPod, pre-loaded with all his favorite songs. If ever there was someone with an eclectic taste in music, it was Castiel, but Dean seemed to have hit every style which Castiel most adored; Harry James, Elvis, Billy Joel, Queen, Macklemore-- even Taylor Swift and Tim McGraw. It made Castiel blush to realize Dean had taken such careful notice of his likes and dislikes, and he turned the device in his hands a while, noticing an engraving on the back; C.W. 

“CW?” He asked.

“Castiel Winchester,” Dean replied, expression nervous. Castiel leaned against Dean's side, smiling, and said nothing. 

“Hey, uh… I got something else, but… You can't freak out on me, alright?” Dean starts, leaning away. 

“Alright?” Castiel watches curiously as Dean roots around under the tree awhile before coming away with a small box, wrapped in gold paper. He sits on his knees, watching Castiel carefully before he holds it out.

The smaller man arches a brow but takes it, slowly unwrapping it and lifting the top off the miniscule box; his stomach bottoms out in the best kind of way.

“Barb, uh… Barb commented that we didn't have rings. I bought ‘em as part of the act, but, uh… I think they mean a little more, now.”

Nestled into a soft display cushion are two rings. They’re smooth, unblemished silver, with wide bands. Castiel stares, unsure what to say.

“I mean… I'm not asking you to marry me, okay? But, uh… It’s been over a year now, almost two… I think that justifies some kinda symbol of commitment.”

Dean rambles on in his nervous state until Castiel pulls the smaller of the two from the box and slips it on the second finger of his left hand. It fits perfectly, loose but not able to slip from his finger. He holds the box out to Dean who, blushing, slides his own ring on. 

Castiel sets the box aside, lying his head in Dean's lap. Dean begins to flip through his cookbook again, Castiel trying to figure out his iPod, the flashing lights from the tree catching against their rings.

Neither one of them will ever admit how good it feels to wear those rings-- to _finally_ have a promise that one of them wouldn't leave. 

Castiel doesn't want to consider the outside world as they lay there, both content in silence. But, he has to; thoughts of Jack, and Joshua, and Gabriel have been plaguaging him since he arose this morning. 

“Dean,” he says, and the hunter doesn't look at him, instead ‘Hmm?’ing quietly.

“I… Spoke with Joshua, yesterday.”

Suddenly, he has Dean's undivided attention.

“What? As in the same Joshua who saddled you with Jack? How the hell did he get in the Bunker?”

“He didn't get in,” Castiel soothed, sitting up and brushing a hand gently over Dean's arm. “I went outside.”

“Why? Cas, that's dangerous, with all the people after us--”

“I needed a moment,” Castiel said, and Dean reluctantly nodded, seeming to understand. ‘“I was…. Praying, and Joshua answered my prayers, rather than… Rather than my Father.”

“Yeah? What’d douche feathers have to say?”

“Well, he… He said something, and… I'm not sure Jack is what he appears to be.”

“What do you mean?” Dean frowned, facing Castiel, cook book set aside. 

“I mean… I don't think Jack is a fledgling.”

“What? You're gonna tell me that we’ve been raising a baby demon or something? He doesn't seem like bad news to me.”

“No. No, nothing like that.” Castiel shook his head, wringing his hands in his lap. “I was…. I had been praying for guidance, for answers. And something Joshua said to me…. He was begging me to remain faithful to my Father, Dean, I mean…. He was desperate. He said… _His situation is such that He doesn’t know Himself, His power. You are all that stands between Him and His own creations_.”

“What does that mean? God’s got amnesia or something?”

“Or… Or He was born anew, and… Doesn't remember Himself…” Castiel whispered, and he watched as all the color drained from Dean's face, his eyes locked on Castiel.

“You’re… You're telling me that… That Jack, _our one year old son Jack_ might be…”

“He might be God.” Castiel nodded. 

“No. No, that doesn't make sense… He’s got part of my soul in him. Wouldn't God be pure, or some shit? I mean… He’s got a human body for fucks sake!”

“Joshua said my Father had been watching me… He had seen my human traits, alongside my angelic ones…. He wanted to experience both, as I have… So I suppose He had Joshua impose His essence on me, and disguised it as fledgling.”

“Still doesn't explain why he has his own body.” Dean argued.

“It actuay explains itself,” Castiel said, frowning. “A normal angel can't just… Create new matter, it breaks the laws of creation. God, though… He made man. Of course He would build his own vessel. There wouldn't be one strong enough to hold him otherwise,”

Dean stared at him, blinking slowly. “You didn't think to tell me this last night?” He suddenly demanded.

“I was a bit preoccupied.” Castiel replied with narrowed eyes. Dean blushed quite satisfyingly. 

“So… What do we now?” Dean asked after a long moment. 

“I… Don't know. I mean, he's still Jack.”

“So… We just go on merrily raising our son, His Royal Highness of friggin _Creation_ , as a normal kid?”

“I don't think we have much of a choice, Dean.”

Suddenly, the sound of little feet comes from down the hall. Jack is barreling towards them in only his diaper, his run clumsy and unpracticed, and Sam is strolling along behind him, yawning. Dean instinctually opens his arms and Jack crashes into him, giggling hysterically as he clings to his father. 

“Morning, J.D.,” Dean chuckles, and Jack leans away at the nickname, grin wide. He gives Castiel a quick kiss on the cheek before turning back to his other parent.

“Pez-unts?” He points towards the tree and Dean nods, and they all watch as Jack heads towards the boxes, no worry as to what gift is for who, and busily begins to tear at the wrapping.

Castiel exchanges a look with Dean, and knows they're both thinking the same thing; how on Earth can their goofball son be the God they had so long ago forsaken?

“Hey,” Sam says, sitting near to Jack and to the right of Castiel. “Not that I’m not happy for you guys, but, uh…. Next time you two decide to go at it, try and keep it down. I'm shocked you didn't wake Jack up,”

Dean puts his head in his hands with a groan, and Castiel has the good manners to blush. 

They spend the rest of the day watching Jack alternate between playing with his new toys, and napping in either Sam, Dean, or Castiel’s lap. He’s getting bigger now, taller, and as he gets older his freckles are fading but not gone. His dark mop of hair has become lighter, but not by much, and he’s now got two front teeth and bottom left mollar. 

He never outgrows his desire for contact, and attention, though-- why would he, with three loving adults surrounding him?

As Castiel lowers his son into bed that night, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, he can't help but think that if Jack is God… Perhaps God wasn't so bad after all.

When he and Dean climb into bed that night, exchanging soft kisses and clasping their ring-clad hands together, they agree not to tell anyone else about Jack-- not even Sam.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, I am alive! If you don't care to read this rant, go ahead to the reading but I'll catch you up on where I've been below;
> 
> Oh, where to start? I guess I should apologize for vanishing. The past month got a bit crazy, and I simply did not have time to sit down and write. Firstly, exams began in May, shortly after I got over Bronchitis. There's one reason I haven't updated-- beyond that, I had more testing, and then I also graduated high school this past weekend so there was a lot of preparations, party, and family involved in that. HOWEVER, I am back and eager to finish this fic! I can't promise daily updates because I do have two jobs this summer to help pay for my schooling next year, but don't expect a month before the next update! Thanks to everyone who left notes and comments while I was gone, you guys are great.
> 
> Best of wishes,  
> Xx

Jack begins to wilt with time. The longer they stay cooped inside the bunker, the quieter Jack becomes; after nearly six months, the toddler begins to drag his feet, losing interest in his toys and his normal habits. Dean notices the change before anyone else, expressing his concerns to Castiel one night after they’ve put Jack to bed. 

“We have to take him outside,”

“What?” Castiel, buried in an old lore book, looks up, surprised by Dean’ sudden statement from across the room. The hunter is toweling off from a shower, searching distractedly through a drawer for a clean pair of boxers.

“Jack,” Dean says, grabbing a pair at random and slipping into them. Castiel’s eyes follow him, tracking the simple ease of Dean’s movements. “He’s depressed, Cas.”

“He isn’t depressed,” Castiel frowns, closing his book and setting it aside. “He’s simply starved of outside influences… He’s a curious child, I figured he would become intolerant of the bunker soon enough.”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, shaking water out of his hair before moving towards the bed. “Depressed, intolerant, whatever-- he’s not acting like himself, and I hate it.”

“We can take him out,” Castiel shrugs, resisting the ‘I told you so’ that lingers on the tip of his tongue; he and Dean had argued over this many times. “But you know the risks.”

“He’s God, nothing should be able to hurt him,” Dean sighs, and Castiel pulls the blankets back for his partner to slide underneath with him.

“He has no idea of his own strength,” Castiel frowns, adjusting to the new press of Dean’s body against his side. The hunter lays his head on Cas’s shoulder, staring at the far wall. His hair is still damp, and it presses to Castiel’s dry chest; the ex-angel curves a gentle palm over the sharp angle of Dean’s elbow.

“We can take him out for a walk, just around the bunker-- take it one step at a time, go further away from home every day.” Dean suggests and Castiel fumbles blindly for the bedside lamp, pulling the string and dousing the room in darkness.

“He isn’t an animal, Dean,” Castiel presses a gentle kiss to the shell of the hunter’s ear. “Walking won’t give him the stimulation he needs,”

“We can’t just… Sign him up for preschool, Cas.”

“We can,” Cas shrugs, letting the statement linger a moment before adding “I have the papers.”

“You’ve been researching preschools?” Dean sits up in the darkness, and Castiel can barely make out his expression in the dark; it’s torn between betrayal and amusement and Castiel slowly sits up, reaching for the hunter in the darkness. To his surprise, Dean comes easy enough into the circle of his arms, his head tucked against Castiel’s shoulder.

“I looked around,” Castiel shrugs, smoothing a gentle hand down Dean’s spine. “I found one nearby that I think would suit Jack well… It’s quiet, unaffiliated with religion and highly recommended by parents.”

“Just because it isn’t affiliated with religion doesn’t mean angels or demons or whatever the hell else is looking for him won’t get wind of Jack being there,” Dean mumbles into his shoulder.

“It’s next door to a hospital,” Castiel hesitated. “I have a significant amount of training in basic medicine, and a nursing degree would be easy enough to forge. I would be within shouting distance of him,”

“You’re just as miserable as Jack,” Dean sighs, and Castiel blinks at the statement. “I can’t keep you down here either-- you’re working on your own jailbreak.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m miserable, but… I’m a creature of travel by nature, Dean, human now or not.”

“Yeah, yeah, I haven’t forgotten what you used to be, feathers,” Dean sighs. “ _The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still_ , or something like that,”

“Did you just quote Maya Angelou?” Castiel chuckles.

“I do read sometimes,” Dean grumbles, sighing, and Castiel tries not to smile as he drags the hunter in close. They sit in companionable silence for a long time and Castiel simply listens to Dean’s breathing, knowing the hunter is considering the situation in the silence.

“Fine, we’ll go check out the school tomorrow.” Dean finally gives in, and Castiel can’t help his victorious grin in the darkness.

“And I can pick up an application for the hospital?”

“Yeah, whatever you want,” Dean grumps, slithering out of his arms and back under the blankets. Castiel follows him after a moment, curling a careful arm around the hunter’s waist in the dark and pressing his chest to Dean’s back.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean ‘mm’s in the darkness, but grips Castiel’s hand where it lies on his stomach now. It’s all the reassurance Castiel needs to know that Dean isn’t upset with him, and he settles easily into sleep.

The next morning is a Thursday, and it’s Castiel’s job to get Jack ready for the day. Jack is awake promptly at six, and Castiel runs a comb through his hair, helps him brush his teeth, and lets Jack pick his own clothes. The nearly-two year old selects a shirt with a rocket-ship print, blue jeans, and a pair of sneakers-- velcro, of course; laces were out of his league yet.

Jack is occupied with stomping his feet as they march down the hall, begging Cas to “Look, Dad! Look!” as the tiny shoes light up with each step. Castiel humors the toddler, ruffling his hair as they make their way to the kitchen, Jack in particularly good spirits compared to his usually dull mood the past few weeks.

“Mornin’ J.D.,” Dean smiles over his shoulder where he’s standing at the stove working on breakfast. Jack chirps a polite “Hi, Daddy,” before climbing into a chair at the table and reaching for the customary coloring sheets and crayons that Dean and Castiel always left on the table. Castiel sits beside him, watching the boy scratch images across the paper. Jack actually showed a great deal of artistic ability, and Castiel had his drawings displayed across the bunker.

“Mornin’ babe,” Dean presses a kiss to his head as he sets breakfast before Castiel, and the ex-angel smiles at his lover as he takes the seat on the opposite side of Jack.

“Toast?” Jack looks up from his drawing and Dean nods, offering a small square of cinnamon toast to the toddler.

“Jack, we’re gonna talk at breakfast instead of drawing today, okay?” Dean says and Jack obediently pushes his drawing away, smacking noisily on his piece of toast. Castiel stands, going to the fridge and pouring milk into a sippy cup.

“We’re going to go somewhere today,” Dean explains, and Castiel watches quietly as he puts the milk back in the fridge, screwing the top onto Jack’s favorite cup before returning to the table. Something Castiel always admired about Dean was the way he treated Jack; he spoke to the toddler as if he was an adult, and Castiel attributed Jack’s maturity greatly to this fact. “And it’s important that you’re on your best behavior.”

“Mmkay Daddy,” Jack nods, taking his milk from Castiel. He holds it, but doesn’t drink from it.

“It’s a school,” Dean continues. “And you’re going to stay there sometimes during the day, and Dad and Daddy are gonna work.”

“Whadabout da bad guys?” Jack frowns, fidgeting in his seat. Dean offers him another piece of toast and Jack takes it, holding it in the hand opposite his milk.

“I’ll be just next door, Jack, and Daddy will be just as close. No bad guys will get near you,” Castiel chimes in and Dean nods his support.

“Mmkay,” Jack seems perfectly appeased and his utter faith in Castiel and Dean strikes both adults not for the first time since they became parents. There is nothing in the world like a child’s trust and it often humbled them both to realize they had Jack’s.

Jack takes a sip of his milk and shoves his toast in his mouth. “Color?” He mumbles around his food, and Dean pushes the crayons and paper back towards him. Jack goes back to coloring, and the adults eat, exchanging small talk across the table until Sam wanders in and they explain their plan for the day.

Sam seems a bit surprised by their sudden change of heart, but he says he thinks it will be good for Jack. They still had not told Sam about the ‘God hypothesis’ as Dean had taken to calling it. Castiel could see the guilt in Dean’s eyes if he looked at his partner at the right moment; keeping Sam from something, even if there was no lying involved, tore at Dean. However, Castiel had come to find that Dean’s level of protectiveness towards Sam nowhere near rivaled his protective urges towards Jack.

They linger for awhile after breakfast, Dean checking wards and hiding weapons on his person while Castiel helps Jack select a toy for the drive. Jack decides on a stuffed dinosaur which he tucks carefully under his arm as Castiel takes his hand and leads him towards the steps, Dean two steps ahead of them, shoulders tensed in nervous knots.

When they step out of the bunker, Castiel half expects an attack.

Instead, they are greeted with the quiet buzz of insects and chirping birds. There’s a cloud obscuring the sun, but the resulting shade takes the edge off of what might otherwise might be a rather toasty morning. Dean is more tense than Castiel can ever remember seeing him, but the relief that floods through the ex-angel is almost overwhelming. He feels muscles that he didn’t know were tight releasing tension and his eyes close of their own accord.

He inhales and it’s a long time before he finally exhales and lets the outside air escape his lungs again.

When he opens his eyes, Jack is vibrating with energy at his side and Dean is watching them with the faintest traces of a smile. 

They have to fight with Jack’s old car seat to make it more friendly to his current size, but after that they hit the road. They drive with the windows down, Jack kicking the back of Castiel’s seat in time with the Metallica cassette in the player. Dean relaxes with time, and when they arrive at the preschool all three are smiling.

It’s a quaint little building, and the staff are warm and welcoming. Jack hides behind Dean’s knees, and Castiel converses about the standards of care with the teacher of Jack’s age group as Dean tries to coax their son into looking around one of the classrooms.

“Has Jack had much exposure to other children?”

“No,” Castiel replies, crossing his arms; he keeps his eyes on Jack, where Dean is crouched at his side near a pile of art supplies. “We’ve moved a lot, he’s never had the chance to enter school.”

“Oh,” The teacher, Mrs. Urn according to her name tag, nods slowly. “Well… We have a lot of military children here,”

“Excuse me?” 

“Your husband,” Castiel arches a brow at the term but does not protest it. “He looks like a military man if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Dean has seen more in his life than most men thrice his age.” Castiel agrees, and he can’t help the way his voice drops. 

“Yes, well we try our best to be accommodating of every situation. What is it that you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nursing,” Castiel answers, and it isn’t exactly a lie. While raised to be an angelic soldier, he was also one of the few who were trained in battlefield treatments and domestic medicine. He had always found an odd level of peace and calm when taking care of others, and a large part of him was eager to return to it and see how much he could remember from his angelic training-- a great deal of his memories were lost, thanks to becoming human.

Castiel and Mrs. Urn spoke for a long time, and after a quiet conversation with Dean Castiel signed the paperwork and enrolled Jack to begin on Monday. They swung by the hospital to see about nursing positions before heading home, a bag of fast food in the back seat and smiles on all their faces.

For now, life was good, and the outside world was bright. Jack would be beginning school, Dean and Castiel trying for jobs, and all the sadness of the past year seemed to have fallen away. Castiel held on to this moment, watching the wind pass through Dean’s hair as they drove, the sun highlighting Jack’s freckles-- and Castiel, hating the way his stomach hollowed out in the face of all this happiness.

Because he was a Winchester, they all were, and nothing ever stayed this great.


	20. Chapter 20

Jack settles into school well. He enjoys his classmates and the new found freedom of life outside of the bunker. He begins asking questions about dinosaurs and the alphabet instead of wendigos and demons, and each morning he holds on to Castiel’s neck just a second less than the morning before when he’s dropped off on the school steps. His little voice fills the bunker with preschool songs and laughter, and one night he tells Dean all about the class hamster, Peaches.

Castiel watches his once wilting son begin to blossom, and his heart aches.

Dean follows his dreams. A local hunter named Frank hears that they’re trying to settle down and offers Dean and Sam both a position at the local Firehouse, even helping to forge the documents and test results to get them the jobs. Frank is chief and treats all his employees with respect and Dean thoroughly enjoys his work, Sam too. The odd hours sometimes keep them both away longer than Castiel or Jack would like, but it’s nice to see their tired smiles when they come in the door.

Castiel, however, cannot shake the uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

He decides that he doesn’t want to pursue a nursing job, instead spending his days wandering the bunker trying to decide what he does want to do. He has spent so much time taking care of Jack and the Winchesters that he has no idea what to do with himself now that he doesn’t have to.

He wishes, often, that he could talk to Gabriel.

They hadn’t heard from the arch angel since he returned Jack so long ago, and not from lack of trying. Castiel prayed every night for his brother's safety and return, head stooped and steepled fingers pressed to his lips. He had no way of knowing if his prayers had reached Gabriel, or if his brother was even still alive after falling from grace-- but he held out hope. 

He was discovering that hope was a large part of humanity-- and so was distraction.

Jack’s second birthday was racing towards him like a horse, and Castiel devotes a great deal of his time to planning a party. Jack was finally making friends and Castiel had a list of toddlers to invite; he chose a dinosaur theme, because Jack was currently enamored with triceratops. He bought plates, cups, table cloths, and even ordered a cake from the local bakery. 

It was a cool afternoon in mid-September and Castiel was trying to decide which park to have the actual party at. He was stooped over a laptop at the kitchen table, scribbling locations on a pad to his left, when the phone rang. 

They have two phones at the bunker; one for the school and work, one for hunters. This time it was the second line, so Castiel knows he can’t let it go to voicemail. Rising from his spot, he scrubs a tired hand over his face and picks up the reciever with his free hand, answering gruffly.  
“Winchesters.”

“Charles?”

His stomach bottoms out and for a moment Castiel thinks he may be sick.

“Gabriel?” There’s a heavy sigh on the other line and Castiel hears a chuckle follow it. 

“Man am I glad to hear your voice,”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say; there’s a lump in his throat, compromising his ability to speech. He’s worried after his brother for months and recently it’s been a battle to retain his faith in his brother’s survival.

“Charles?”

“I-I’m here,” Castiel stutters, holding the phone now in both hands. “It’s just… Surprising, to hear from you. Why are you calling me Charles?”

“In a good way, I hope,” Gabriel chuckles, ignoring his question, but the customary joy has left the sound. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a few weeks-- all the old numbers are out.”

“Where are you?” 

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” There’s a heavy pause. “I… I need some help.”

“Anything, Gabriel.” Castiel says it with conviction, and he means it-- Gabriel had saved his life many times and, more importantly, Jack’s.

“I’m in a bad spot,” Gabriel explains. “I… Had a pretty bad fall.”

“Are you with someone?” Castiel read into Gabriel’s strange tone, his word choices.

“Yeah, I’m staying with a friend… A hunter named Jasmine. She uh… She hates the feathers as much as we do,”

“You’re injured and you’re staying with a hunter who hates angels?” Castiel’s grip on the phone is now white knuckled. 

“Yeah, she found me after I… Fell.” Gabriel’s voice suddenly lowers dramatically. “Look, she hates angels but she won’t let me go until she knows I’ve got some family to take care of me. I told her you’re my cousin and you’re coming to get me.”

“Where are you?” Castiel demands again. 

“Maine,” Gabriel sighs. “I… Moved around as much as could, after I dropped Jack off. Wanted to throw everyone of you and, uh… Dan’s trail.”

“Okay… Okay,” Castiel nods, processing this information. “Does Jasmine have any idea that you and I are angels?”

“Were,” Gabriel corrects, town lowering again. “And no. She thinks my name is George. Cas, she’s working your case… She and a lot of the radical hunters are scouring the damn ends of the Earth for Jack. They think he’s a baby archangel-- I’ve been trying to throw them off, but they’re smart… It won’t take them long to figure out what he is-- who he is.”

“You _know_?” Castiel hisses.

“I knew the minute I saw him,” Gabriel says in the same low tone. “I’ve been around Him before, Cas… It’s impossible to mistake His grace, even when it’s half human.”

“Shit,” Is all Castiel can think to say.

“Yeah,” Gabriel says and Castiel hears a muffled sound, most likely a female voice.

“So are you coming to get me?” Gabriel says, suddenly louder.

“Yes, uh.. O-of course. Send me the address,” Castiel replies, relaying his cell-phone number to his brother and listening as Gabriel says a quick and tight goodbye and hangs up.

Castiel stands dumbly by the phone for a solid minute before suddenly springing into action. He slams the phone back down into its cradle and nearly sprints down the hall to his and Dean’s bedroom, grabbing a duffel from the top shelf of the closet and throwing it on the bed. At the same time that he’s frantically shoving clothes into it, he pulls his cell phone from his pocket and hits speed-dial.

The phone is squashed between his ear and shoulder as he works, getting what he thinks will be enough clothes and heading to the bathroom for his toothbrush when someone picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, Cas,” 

It’s not the voice he wants to hear.

“Give Dean the phone.”

“Is everything okay?” Sam’s voice is concerned but Castiel doesn’t have enough space around the panic in his chest to try and be soothing.

“Sam, give Dean the phone now. It’s an emergency.” 

He hears the sound of Sam’s feet frantically against the firehouse floor and his shouting for Dean. There’s a few moments in which Castiel tries to cram his toothbrush into a travel carrier and there’s rustling on the other line and then Dean’s voice, low and concerned. 

“Cas?”

“I need you to pick Jack up from school this afternoon. There’s enough food in the freezer for dinner this week and all the things for--”

“Cas-slow down- _stop_. You’re talking too fast, babe. I can’t pick Jack up, I work, remember? What’s going on?” 

Castiel comes to a dead stop in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom on Dean’s command, toothbrush clenched hard in his free hand. He takes a deep breath and he can feel the trembling in his body for the first time, the anxious energy bubbling in his gut.

“Gabriel called. I have to leave.”

“Leave?” There’s panic in Dean’s voice now and he can hear a door close on the other line, Dean most likely stepping away somewhere private.

“He’s injured and staying with a hunter in Maine. I need to go get him,”

“Cas, breathe, alright? We can go pick him up when I get home tonight, okay? You don’t need to panic, he’s safe.”

“He’s with a hunter who hates angels and is trying to track down Jack.” There’s nothing but cold detachment in Castiel’s voice. He hears Dean cuss on the opposite line.

“Okay, uh… When are you leaving?”

“I’m getting my things together now. I’m going to buy a plane ticket.”

“Alright, uh… I’ll tell Frank there’s an emergency and I need to go get Jack. I’ll bring him home, keep him there until you’ve got Gabriel back, just in case.”

“No,” Castiel shakes his head as if his partner can see. “No, Dean, don’t let him know anything is wrong. He’s so happy right now…”

“I’ll tell him we’re planning a surprise party for Gabe, make it fun. I want him home and safe if someone's looking for him, Cas, at least until we’ve got Gabriel back without and hiccups.”

“Fine,” Castiel sighs, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Are you sure you can’t wait for me to get home?” There’s a quiet hesitation to Dean’s voice that Castiel has come to know as equal parts concern and love. “I mean, I know you can handle picking him up on your own, but… You don’t have to.”

“I need to get to him as quickly as possible, Dean.” Castiel sighs, although every fiber of his being wants to wait for Dean, to have his comfort through this ordeal.

“Okay,” He can almost picture Dean nodding. “Alright, then, uh… Don’t worry about Jack, I’ll get him. Just… Keep me updated, alright? I need to know you’re okay.”

“I will,” Castiel manages the smallest of smiles.

“I love you,” Dean’s voice is timid, as it always is when he says the words.

“I love you too, Dean… Jack, too. Tell him for me,”

Dean chuckles. “He knows, babe, but I’ll make sure to tell him a story before bed like you always do,”

“Nothing scary,”

“I am a capable parent, y’know?”

“Alright, alright. Goodbye, Dean,”

“I’ll see you in a few days, Cas.”

Castiel ends the call and drops his phone once more into his pocket, standing still in the doorway; the silence of the bunker floods his ears and he feels his grip on the toothbrush holder, which had gone loose during his conversation with Dean, tighten once more.

Gritting his teeth, Castiel goes back to packing.


	21. Chapter 21

The flight takes longer than Castiel would have liked. It’s the first time he’s been on a plane and he finds that Dean’s anxiety about the contraptions is warranted-- the flight is bumpy and noisy and the man to his left keeps infringing upon his personal space. Since falling from grace nearly two years ago, he hadn’t particularly thought about flight. His time had been consumed with thoughts of Dean and Jack, taking care of and protecting them, adapting to his new found life.

Watching out the window of the plane, he felt an unwarranted tear slip past his defenses. The world looked so small below him, and he thought back to what little memories he had of flying. So much of his past had been forgotten, lost when his human brain could no longer comprehend the strange swirls of light and sound that were his first language. He could still remember the sensation of the wind on his face, between his feathers….

Castiel closed the window cover, rubbing at two sore points of contact on his back. Even after two years, that kind of ache never went away.

Once he lands in Maine, Castiel rents a car. It’s a new model, midsized SUV that Dean never would have approved of-- but Castiel enjoys the spacious interior and follows the speed limit religiously on the way to the address Gabriel has given him, despite his desire to rush. 

The GPS takes him to an address just outside of the small coastal town of Cutler. It’s a quiet area, and there’s a chilly breeze coming off the water that floods in through Castiel’s open windows. As he turns onto a gravel drive, Castiel thinks this is the perfect place for a hunter to settle down. It’s quiet, private, and there aren’t enough neighbors to ask questions about comings and goings.

The house at the end of the driveway is a large two story wood cabin, smoke billowing from the chimney. There’s lights on in the front windows, and Castiel notices two dogs barking on the front porch as he rolls to a stop and puts the car in park. He watches, waiting, reaching for his phone to call Gabriel when the front door opens to reveal a female figure.

“Can I help you?” She calls, and Castiel can see a sawed off in her left hand. She’s got the same sharp eyes and tense posture of every hunter, her dark hair braided down her back.

“I’m here for George,” He says calmly out the open passenger side window. He sees the tension drain from her body, her eyes less sharp as she sets the sawed off down and snaps at the still barking dogs to be quiet. She comes down the steps and Castiel reaches for the knife in his boot-- just in case.

“You must be Charles,” the woman says, leaning in the passenger window to examine him. She has a dark complexion and olive eyes to compliment it, a soft sprinkle of freckles stretching across her nose. Castiel notices she has an accent. “I’m Jasmine.”

She extends a hand for him to shake, and Castiel’s hand leaves the hilt of his knife to return the greeting. She seems kind enough, but he keeps an air of caution in his movements-- of all the angels, Castiel was easily recognizable for all the trouble he’s caused in the past. 

“Where are you coming from, Charles?” She asks as she leans out the window and Castiel steps out of the car, retrieving his bag from the back and hefting it over one shoulder. 

“Kansas,” He replies gruffly. Jasmine gives him a sideways look, and Castiel almost misses it before she turns around again.

“You must love your cousin very much to come so far for him,” She chuckles, leading him to the porch. She retrieves her sawed off before leading him into the house, closing the door behind them.

“He’s family,” Castiel shrugs, keeping his words short and his attention on the house. It was a tactic Dean had taught him, looking for exits and weapons-- oh, no. Dean. Castiel comes to the sickening realization that he has not bothered to text or call his partner since he left, and he makes a mental note to do so once he’s seen Gabriel.

Jasmine nods, chuckling, and leads Castiel up a set of stairs and down a hallway. “George?” She pauses to knock on a door. “Are you decent?”

“What else would I be?” Comes the irritable reply and Castiel smiles despite himself as Jasmine pushes open the door.

Gabriel is sitting in the center of a large bed, propped upon a mound of pillows. There’s a large gash on his forehead that has been cruelly stitched, and the beginning of a bruise on his collarbone that disappears beneath his shirt. His left arm hangs in a sling and Castiel can tell by the tightness in his face that he is in pain simply sitting there.

He looks irritated when he sees Jasmine, his eyes flitting over her shoulder to rest on Cas-- and all the irritation falls from his face, replaced with relief and happiness. 

“Hey there cuz,” He greets with his token grin.

“Hello, George,” Castiel smiles, feeling that uncomfortable feeling that has been lingering in his gut for so long finally fading. He steps around Jasmine, dropping his bag at the foot of the bed, and comes to sit beside his older brother. Gabriel, surprisingly, reaches out a hand-- Castiel clasps it in his own for a moment, smiling, before releasing it.

“You look terrible,” He comments.

“Gee, thanks, good to see you too,” Gabriel rolls his eyes, and Castiel smiles yet again. His family is safe-- all of them, for the first time.

“Are you ready to go home?” He asks and Gabriel nods with vigor, struggling to sit up further in the bed.

“Oh, please, you’ve only just gotten here,” Jasmine frowns from her place leaning against the doorframe. “At least allow me to make you something to eat, give you a place to sleep for the night.”

Castiel looks to Gabriel, who shrugs.

“Alright, thank you, I would appreciate that.” He nods. Jasmine smiles, seeming pleased with his decision, and steps into the room. She bends to retrieve Castiel’s bag.

“I’ll put this in your room, you two catch up.” She says, taking the bag away and closing the door behind herself. Castiel and Gabriel wait until they can no longer hear her footfall to turn to each other.

Gabriel’s grin is wicked. 

“It’s good to see you, Cassie.” He smiles and Castiel nods, frowning as he shifts on the bed to face his brother. 

“What happened, Gabriel?” He asks, motioning to his brothers injuries.

“Exactly what I told you,” Gabriel sighs. “I just… Moved, all the time. Led the bloodhounds as far away from you and the kid as I could, until one day I just… Dropped out of the sky.” There’s pain in the lines of Gabriel’s face and Castiel wants to comfort his brother-- but he knows this is not something that can be easily soothed. Falling from grace was almost as terrible as dying. “I dropped somewhere in the Canadian woods… Jasmine stumbled across me, I told her I’d had a pretty nasty fall on a hunt and was trying to make my way back to civilization.”

“She took care of you?”

“She patched me up,” Gabriel nodded, motioning to the stitches on his forehead with his good hand.

“Has she questioned you?”

“Relentlessly,” Gabriel nodded. “About where I’m from, why I got into hunting, who my closest family were, who I am.”

“Do you think she has any suspicions?” He worries, watching as his brother shakes his head.

“No. I gave her some sob story about dead parents, raised by my aunt and uncle-- my closest living family was my cousin Charles, who would come and get me.”

“Alright,” He nods, “What did you tell her about me?”

“You’re a hunter rooted in Kansas with no family. We usually hunt together, but we got in a fight and I was off doing my own thing when I got hurt,” Castiel nods along, glad Gabriel hadn’t given Jasmine any reason to suspect Castiel may have anything at home worth looking into. 

They begin to talk, after that. Gabriel tells Castiel of the happenings in the months he’s been gone, of how he had run for as long as he possibly could before falling from grace. He told Castiel of the things which Castiel himself had become accustomed to-- memory loss, sickness, injury… Humanity. Castiel saw such pain and misery in his brother, who had been around to witness the very beginning and could now only remember the early nineteenth century. He saw his brother’s fear of mortality, and loneliness… He wished he could take it all away and he hated himself for not being able to. 

Castiel isn’t sure how long they talk, but it must be at least an hour before Jasmine steps into the room and announces dinner is ready. He helps Gabriel to stand and keeps a guiding hand on his elbow as they navigate the halls and move down the stairs. He thinks to himself that he may understand Dean’s feelings towards Sam-- Gabriel was, for all intensive purposes, the only real brother Castiel had ever known. 

He may not remember his formative years anymore, but he would never forget the warm presence of Gabriel by his side the whole time.

The kitchen smells of heavy garlic and a meat Castiel isn’t sure he’s familiar with as he helps Gabriel to sit in a chair. The once powerful warrior of God moves now like an elderly man, pain in his every movement. Castiel stands behind his chair, one hand on his brother’s shoulder, as he watches Jasmine plate their dinners.

“I hope you enjoy gyros,” She says, setting two plates before them. 

“Jasmine is from Greece,” Gabriel explains.

“Thassos,” Jasmine nods. 

“What brought you to the United States?” Castiel speaks in a polite tone, but he knows there’s force behind his words.

“Same as everyone else,” Jasmine says, taking a seat directly across from Gabriel. Castiel slowly takes the seat to Gabriel’s right, looking down at his food. “The Kansas explosion.”

“Pardon?” Castiel picks at the pita on his gyro. 

“Don’t play coy, Charles.” Jasmine scoffs. “You live there, you must have been right at the heart of it.”

“It was nearly two years ago,” Castiel shrugs, playing it off best he can. He has never been a good liar. “I figured the trail had gone cold by now,”

“Oh, no, hardly.” Jasmine chuckles, shaking her head as she takes a hearty bite. Gabriel uses a fork to pick at his meal but Castiel doesn’t eat. “Hunters from all over the world have flocked here, Charles. We have a network, and we’re working with some… Powerful adversaries.”

“Oh?” Castiel can feel a pit forming in his stomach.

“As much as I don’t like the idea, we’ve formed an alliance with the angels. They want this... thing dead as much as we do,”

Castiel clenches his teeth and Gabriel casts him a sideways glance.

“What do they think it is?” Castiel can see Jack in his mind's eye, giggling hysterically as Dean chases him through the bunker. It makes his blood boil to think of anyone harming his son, or considering him an it.

“There’s several theories… A lot of them think it’s a new archangel.” Jasmine shrugs. “The angels are worried it is being raised with humanity-- if it is, they’ll have to destroy it. It’s tarnished in their eyes. There are other theories, of course, but that’s the one they're sticking with.”

“What do you think?” Castiel gives up the pretenses of eating, pushing his plate towards the center of the table.

“I think the angels are afraid of this thing, and who is harboring it.” Jasmine says, moving her own meal away. She’s watching Castiel curiously, her sharp olive eyes boring holes into his skin. “Ever heard of the Winchesters, Charles?”

Gabriel’s eyes are suddenly on him, and Castiel is careful to give nothing away.

“I’ve heard of them. Why?”

“Oh, I think you’ve done more than _heard_ of them.”

Jasmine’s hand comes from under the table and Castiel reaches for the knife in his boot as she slams his open wallet to the surface of the table. 

There, in the picture slot, is the photo from Jack’s first Halloween. Castiel’s heart jumps every time he sees it-- Dean’s mouth pressed to his, and Jack’s startled expression in his pumpkin costume. It’s everything in the world he values, everything that makes him happy, saved in a single wallet sized photo.

“I heard that you and Dean shared a profound bond, but I don’t think anyone expected that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Castiel tries but all pretenses of kindness are gone from Jasmine’s face. She stands, leaving the wallet on the table, and Castiel rises just as quickly.

“Leave the pretenses, _Castiel_. I know who you are,” She spits, looking between the two ex-angels sitting across from her. “You too, _Gabriel_.”

His brother remains quietly seated.

Castiel makes a decision, rising to his full height and narrowing his eyes. He may not be an angel anymore, but he knew well enough how to look intimidating.

“Well.” He says, gravel and grit sitting heavy in his words. “What is it you want?”

“Not what I want.” She smirks. “What your brothers and sisters want. You’ve been hiding it from them-- they’re more than a bit upset,”

“I have hidden nothing.”

“Lies!” She snarls, and Castiel’s fingers twitch at his side. The knife is still in his boot but he makes the choice not to grab it yet. “We know the Winchesters have the archangel-- that’s it, in the photo!”

“That is my _son_.” Castiel’s voice is dangerous and he feels Gabriel slowly struggling to his feet behind him. “My human son, who I have been sheltering from this… Petty war. Had you been kind enough to have not gone through my things, I would have gladly told you about him.”

“I don’t believe the lies, Castiel,” She rolls her eyes. “Besides-- it’s not me you’ll need to answer to.”

And suddenly, the air begins to hum. Castiel feels panic close his throat as he spins to face Gabriel, whose eyes have narrowed as he stands at his full height. Castiel can see the pain in his face, the way he trembles at the ringing pressure that begins to build around them.

“ _Go_.” He says, watching as pictures began to rattle off the wall-- they must have sent a whole garrison after them, with a very powerful angel at the head. He fishes the car keys out of his pocket and shoves them into Gabriel’s good hand. “There are wardings on the car-- they won’t be able to get in, or track you.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Gabriel snaps, eyes going wide-- there’s fear in them.

“Gabriel, I’m not _asking_.” Castiel finds himself barking, and in that moment he sees Dean in his own reflection where it stares back at him from Gabriel’s eyes. “Go find Dean. Tell him to keep Jack safe… I’ll catch up with you soon enough.”

“Castiel.” He can hear it in Gabriel’s voice; no you won’t.

“Gabriel. Back door. Now.”

Gabriel watches him for a moment before nodding, jaw clenched tight. Castiel turns, watching Gabriel limp to the door; Jasmine makes a move towards him and Castiel catches her by the arm, yanking her back.

“Try to touch him, or tell the angels where he’s gone.” He snarls. “I will kill you.”

“You’re human now, Castiel,” She snarls, yanking her arm from his grip. Gabriel is out the door now, and Castiel can see him climbing into the car through the window. The whole house is trembling now and he can hear the dogs on the front porch howling. “What are you going to do?”

Castiel feels the fire build in his veins, the humming around him vibrating him to the very core of his being as he closes a hand around Jasmine’s wrist and feels the bones there crack under the pressure of his grip. Jasmine’s olive gaze meets cerulean fire, the edges burning white, and Castiel can feel the panic in her building while the strength in him grows.

“Y-you can’t… You’re _human_!”

Her voice is the last thing Castiel remembers as darkness swallows him, and the sound of one hundred pairs of wings descend upon him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter, but important for plot. Thanks for reading :)

Castiel doesn’t know where he is. 

It’s cold, and he thinks he’s on the floor but he’s too dizzy to be sure. His whole body aches and his breath rattles in his chest when he coughs. He tries to open his eyes, but only manages to pry open one; the other is throbbing in its socket, and he figures he must have been injured. The room he’s in is dim, only a small window that he can see. 

He’s on a stone floor, that much he decides is fact. He’s hurt, maybe some broken ribs if his aching chest is any indication. He manages to move, to bring his hands to his face; there’s a ringing in his ears and his right wrist feels like jelly; most likely sprained. 

“I see you’re finally awake. Didn’t think you’d be out for three weeks, honestly.”

The voice sounds muffled and Castiel wonders if his hearing is damaged as he turns towards the sound. It’s an angel, clear as day, standing with her back to Castiel. Did she say he was unconscious for three weeks? He’s so caught up in his thoughts that it takes him a moment to notice the shackles on the opposite wall, the Enochian symbols carved into their iron surfaces…

This is an angel prison-- one of the original ones, untouched for probably centuries.

He would never be found here.

“We’ve looked everywhere for you and your… Abomination, Castiel. I’m surprised you evaded us for so long.” The voice is familiar and the figure turns. It’s a female, her dark hair pinned in a neat bun atop her head. Castiel takes a rattling breath, trying not to let her see how it aches to do so.

“What do you want?” Castiel can hear the rasp in his own voice.

“Where’s the boy, Castiel?”

Castiel can’t help it-- he laughs. It aches through his entire body, but he throws his head back and laughs. It’s hysterical, unstable, but… Sometimes his humanity gets the better of him, and he does things he doesn’t quite understand. 

“Everyone keeps asking me that. Do you honestly think I’ll tell you?” He cackles. 

“You will.” The angel doesn’t blink. Her vessel is tall, with soft brown eyes. There’s something familiar in her face, something Castiel can’t quite put his finger on; he thinks he knows her, but from where? He struggles to stand, but his legs won’t move; in fact, he realizes for the first time that he can’t feel his legs.

“Spinal injuries are always effective,” The angel moves in his direction, heels echoing against the floor as she stops and crouches before him. “It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but we had to find a way to keep you from snapping anymore necks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel wants to spit and claw and fight-- but he sits still, seething, frustrated. He feels itchy and hot and not at all like himself.

“You don’t recall anything, do you?” She snorts.

Castiel’s silence is answer enough.

“There’s a darkness in you, Castiel,” She tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes as she examines him like a specimen in a petri dish. “Human darkness, sin… That would never give you the authority to murder an entire garrison, no… Something has touched you, changed you… Your very essence has been altered since the last time I saw it.”

She brushes a hand over his cheek and Castiel is struck with recognition.

“Barb.” He breathes.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to recognize the vessel,” Her smile is cold as she rocks back on her heels, watching him with a sharp gaze. “She’s a good fit, this one. Suits me well.”

“What did you do?” Castiel snarls.

It really is Barb. It’s been years since he’s seen the real estate agent, but it’s her; she has the same freckles and friendly eyes he remembers, though there is nothing now in her face but cold indifference.

“Oh, Castiel… You Winchester’s are so easy. All I have to do is take one of your friends, and you’re ready to give up the world…. You should have stayed in Lawrence, Castiel.” Her eyes are dark as she grips Castiel’s jaw in an iron grip, forcing him to meet her gaze when he attempts to look away. “She was easy. One threat to her precious son and I slid right in,”

Castiel thinks of little Jason, who had taken so quickly to Dean when they met. He thinks of Jack’s first Halloween, the laughter and happiness that they had left behind in Lawrence… The friends they had left open to attack.

“You see,” The angel continues in Barb’s voice. “Her husband was a holy man… Perhaps if you had stuck around longer, you would have realized he was the one killing all of those families. His bloodline serves the Cupids-- he was helping his Cupid turn love into hate, leave orphan children for us…. After all, children who are without parents more frequently turn to God or… Other channels for help. Angels and demons both need vessels, Castiel.”

“They’re children,” Castiel hisses, a sick feeling settling in his gut. There had been true trouble brewing in Lawrence, and he had become so wrapped up in his own matters that he had simply… Left it there to simmer and grow. “The cupids would never agree to that.”

“I never said it was multiple cupids, brother,” She chuckles, releasing her hold on his chin and moving away to the other side of the room. “A cupid. We were going to persecute him, but… Then there was an explosion. An archangel, a Nephilim, something else… We don’t know. But we needed men on the ground to search… So we gave the cupid a reprieve, agreed to work with him.”

“Innocent people are dying,” 

“All is fair in love and war, Castiel.” She tisks, turning to face Castiel once more. “Besides, if it weren’t for your sheltering the abomination… No one would have had to die.”

Castiel grits his teeth, but says nothing.

She’s right.

She wanders over once more, heels echoing in the space, until she looms over him. “No one else needs to die, Castiel… Tell me where it is, and I will let you go. You and the Winchester’s may return to your lives with a promise that we will no longer bother you,”

“Him.” Castiel says, and the angel’s eyebrows crease.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not an it.” Castiel clarifies. “He’s a boy, and my son, and I will never give him up.”

Quicker than he can comprehend, there is a heel bearing down against his throat and his access to air is hindered. 

“Do you know who I am?” Her voice has lowered to a snarl, her teeth bared as she towers over him. “I am Narolin, Castiel. Father tasked me with pain and agony, brother, and I am _very_ good at my job.”

Castiel had heard the name in whispers when he was an angel. The angel of chaos they called him; the crusades, the war worlds, they all belonged to Narolin according to many. However, he had never been seen-- he was a private brother, one who never presented himself to the Host. Many angels considered him a myth, a scapegoat for every wrong thing in the world

Were it not for the heel already hindering his breath, the name may have stolen the breath from his lungs.

“Father needed someone for the dirty work,” Narolin snarls, reaching down; he moves his vessels heel away from Castiel’s throat only to replace it with his hand. His grip is steel and he uses it to collect Castiel from the floor, hoisting him into the air; his legs dangle uselessly over the floor and he feels the heat pooling in his face as he struggles for breath. “So he created me. I _invented_ pain, Castiel. I can take you apart piece by piece, put you back together and break you anew-- and I will enjoy every _second_ it.”

He slams Castiel into the far wall, holding him aloft as he closes iron chains around his wrists. The metal is cool on his skin and there are black spots dotting his vision before Narolin finally releases his hold on Castiel’s throat. The human drops so heavily that his arms are nearly torn from their sockets, but the chains are short enough that they keep him lofted somewhat above the floor, useless legs dangling with the rest of his body. All of his weight is held by his wrists and he feels the joints straining and popping as he gasps desperately for air.

“Now. I don’t like to brag, Castiel, I honestly don’t.” Narolin pulls the pins from his vessels hair, Barb’s dark hair cascading down her back. For a moment Castiel sees and hears his friend, but he forces himself to separate the two. “But if you don’t tell me where your… Son, resides, I’ll be forced to let you judge my skill set for yourself.”

“I will… tell you…. Nothing.” Castiel huffs. He’s acutely aware that he’s signing his own death warrant, but he doesn’t care. All he can think of is Jack, Dean, Sam, Gabriel, the bunker… The things he can’t give away, the things he _has_ to protect.

Narolin chuckles, rolling up his sleeves just above his elbows and cracking his fingers. It’s meant to be intimidating, but Castiel feels nothing but calm acceptance. He was an angel once-- it isn’t hard to find the same detachment he once had from reality. He holds on to this indifference, the empty feeling that he often fights on his worst days, and embraces it.

“Very well,” Narolin leans in close, brushing Castiel’s hair softly out of his eyes as Barb’s face smiles at him. “The safe word is ‘stop’… But you may have to say it a few times before I hear you,”

Narolin’s smile is feral, but Castiel barely notices it before the angel of chaos lands his first blow and follows it with countless more.


	23. Chapter 23

It’s Sam who decides to put up Christmas decorations. It’s only the third day of December, but Sam is fed up with the lingering sadness that haunts the bunker. So, he gets up early and unearths the Christmas decorations and sets to work. He sets up the tree and hangs stockings, runs ribbons and tinsels down the hallway, even puts mistletoe in a few doorways. 

Gabriel is the first one awake, shuffling quietly down the hall and pausing at the sight of Sam busily wrapping tinsel around the handrail of the bunkers entry stairs. He watches the tallest Winchester in silence a moment before clearing his throat. Sam barely twitches.

“Morning,” He says, and the smaller man nods his greeting even though Sam can’t see.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“What does it look like?” Sam replies.

“You know what I mean, Sam.” Gabriel lowers himself into one of the chairs surrounding the old military strategy table, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m just putting up decorations, Gabe. There’s no hidden metaphor,” Gabriel can barely see Sam’s eyes roll when watching just his profile.

“You know Dean won’t like this.”

Sam pauses, and Gabriel sees his shoulders slump forward. Gabriel almost wishes he hadn’t said anything, but he knows he’s right; the defeated curve of Sam’s back tells him so.

“We can’t just… Put our lives on hold, Gabe.” The tall man sighs, setting the tinsel on the stairs and turning to face Gabriel.

“It’s Gabriel.”

“It’s been months, he… The chances that he’s coming back are little to none, Gabe.”

“Say it with me, now. _Gabe-ree-el_ ,”

“Gabriel.” Sam sighs. “You can’t just change the subject every time Castiel comes up.”

Every time, without fail, hearing it is like being suckerpunched. They hardly say his name anymore, and Gabriel wishes they would say it even less than they do. Everytime he hears those three syllables it’s like pouring salt on a festering wound. 

“Watch me, Sammy boy.” He smirks, playing it off as he starts to stand. Sam’s hand closes around his wrist like a shackle, holding him in place, and Gabriel is noticeably tense.

“He was your brother,” 

“He still is,” Gabriel snaps, and it’s harsher than he meant it to be. He sees the pity in Sam’s face and it makes him want to run, to hide. He was an archangel once, one of the most powerful beings to ever live. Now? He was human, weak in comparison to someone like Sam Winchester. 

“Yeah,” Sam nods, still holding onto Gabriel’s wrist. “But Gabe… I don’t think he’s coming back.”

Gabriel still remembers the day he stumbled into the bunker; he’d fallen down the steps in his haste to get inside, the door locking heavily behind him. Sam and Dean had been sitting at the strategy table, Jack asleep for the night. 

He’d been so disoriented, so tired, that it took him what seemed like years to tell the Winchester’s what had happened, to deliver Castiel’s message to Dean. He, Gabriel the archangel, had broken down into tears-- he had watched Dean throw a chair in his anger, his frustration, his unwillingness to comprehend the fact that his partner was most likely dead in the middle of a hoard of angels.

He had watched a man fall apart that night, and he wanted to fall apart too-- but somehow, Sam managed to keep them both together.

Sam was a rare creature, Gabriel had come to find. He cared more than he let on, and he took the steps he needed to to take care of people. Sam had let Dean grieve for a day or two, taken care of Jack-- but he’d also been the one to tell Dean to get his shit together, that his son needed him. Similarly, he’d tried to help Gabriel grieve-- but he had yet to do so. 

He wouldn’t waste his energy on grieving while revenge was still on the table.

“He could,” Gabriel finally said, slipping his arm out of Sam’s hold. 

“The odds are against him,”

“The odds have been against my little brother his entire life, Sam.” Gabriel sighed, trying to ignore Sam’s dejected look as his now free hand dropped to his lap. 

“He’s right, Sam.” 

They both jump at the sound of Dean’s voice, turning to look at him where he stands in the doorway between the library and the entry room. He’s freshly awakened, wearing nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants as he steps into the room. 

“Dean…” Sam tries as his older brother wanders over to the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Dean takes a long sip, making a face at the taste before leaning back against the counter and sighing.

“I’m not going to give up, Sammy, so save me the lecture,” Dean says, and Gabriel reluctantly sits back down beside Sam, knowing this had gone from commentary to a discussion.

“We’ve exhausted all our resources, Dean. Hunters checked the house, there was no sign of Cas,”

“But there were at least twenty dead angels,” Dean counters. “Which means Cas somehow managed to defend himself,”

“Dean,” Gabriel sighs. “I told you… Sometimes a guardian angel whose fallen can momentarily…. Resurrect their mojo, so to speak, but it does a lot of damage. Human bodies, human souls… They aren’t meant for that kind of power. If my brother somehow managed to kill all those angels, the energy it would take…”

“Would it kill him?” Dean demands, setting his mug aside and crossing his arms.

“Not… Not necessarily,” Gabriel admits, but he’s reluctant. This isn’t something he wants to explain to the Winchesters. 

“Not necessarily?”

“Channeling that kind of power into a human soul, Dean, it’s… Similar to blood magic. It doesn’t come without a price.”

“You’re telling me Cas is channeling this shit, and taking whatever comes to him?” Dean asks, and Gabriel can see in the way his shoulders are drawing tight that he’s getting worked up.

“He isn’t doing it on purpose,” Gabriel sighs, pulling a hand through his hair. “It’s a protective instinct, but… He’s not aware of it. It’s like the night Lariel found Jack… Lariel almost put a hole through his chest, but Castiel doesn’t even remember attacking him I’ll bet.”

“Well, what’s it going to do to him?”

“I couldn’t say… It does different things to every angel,” Gabriel shrugs and Dean nods thoughtfully, looking at the floor for a long moment before raising his gaze once more.

“We’ve done everything we can?” He says, looking at Sam. The taller Winchester nods silently, frown creasing his face. “Okay, well… Got no choice.” 

Gabriel and Sam raise their eyebrows, watching Dean as he moves up the stairs to the entrance of the bunker. He moves with purpose and it takes Sam and Gabriel a moment to realize he’s leaving. The two exchange a quick look before they’re on their feet.

“I’ve got Jack,” Sam says at the same time Gabriel announces he’ll follow Dean.

The hunter is already outside when Gabriel catches up to him, standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest and expression hard. It’s almost a comical sight, seeing him in only his pajama pants, but Gabriel is beyond concerned. 

“Dean?” He asks, just as there’s an irritated huff from behind him. He spins around, nearly colliding with the new comer.

“You couldn’t have put a bloody shirt on?” 

Crowley looks irritated, hands buried in the pockets of a heavy black coat. The toe of his dress shoe taps irritably in the dirt and he’s eyes are darting nervously around the are, presumably looking for traps. 

“You owe me something. I’m collecting,” Dean gripes.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel hisses, coming to stand beside his brother’s apparently insane partner. Dean ignores him of course.

“Well hello to you too, Squirrel. Doing well, I see. Where’s moose, and your angel?” Crowley snarks.

“You’re going to do this for me, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut.” Dean sounds inhuman-- there’s no emotion in his voice, no expression in his eyes. He’s a desperate man, and Gabriel is frightened by it.

Crowley sighs heavily, always one for dramatics. He reaches in his coat, drawing out what Gabriel presumes to be an agenda-- it’s flower print. The ridiculous flamboyancy almost reminds Gabriel of his own days as an angel, but he glares at the King of Hell none the less. If there’s anything Gabriel knows, it’s that demons cannot be trusted.

“Suppose I can fit you into my schedule, and I _do_ owe you.” Crowley tucks the book once more in his coat. “What can I do for you?”

“Cas. I want you to find him and bring him back.”

“The poor bird probably just flew the coop for a few days, why do you need me to go looking for him? Are you incapable?” Crowley rolls his eyes.

“He’s human, and we’ve been looking for months.” Dean deadpans.

“Well I didn’t get that memo,” Crowley’s eyes narrow noticeably-- thinking. “Why the secrecy?”

Almost on cue, Sam exits the bunker with a sleepy Jack in tow. The toddler is stumbling along behind his uncle with a stuffed animal in arm, dark hair wild from sleep and clothes rumpled. He squints against the early morning sun but releases his uncle's hand when he sees Dean, going to his father without acknowledging Crowley.

Dean collects the boy with ease, hoisting him onto his hip. Jack clings easily to his neck and finally gets a good look at Crowley, leveling his blue-green stare on the demon. Almost instantly, Crowley stands up straighter, eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh… You bloody _morons_. What have you gotten yourselves into now?” Crowley demands, looking to Dean with surprise. 

“You don’t tell a soul, or I end you.” Dean threatens.

“What, that you’ve been bottle feeding the damn creator of the universe? Oh, no, thank you. I’d rather not be on the opposing team where this one is concerned,” Crowley points to Jack, who is still studying him intently.

“His name is Jack, Crowley. He doesn’t know… Anything. He’s just Jack.” Dean explains, and Crowley keeps staring at the boy. 

“Crowley,” Jack says suddenly, as if bookmarking the man in his mind, and Dean nods.

“That’s right Jack. Mr. Crowley is going to find your Dad,”

“I know,” Jack nods. “I heard you thinking about it,” 

Dean doesn’t even blink, used to strange statements like this from his son, while the other three men in the yard exchange bewildered stares. Dean shifts Jack on his hip, eyeing Crowley. “So will you do it?”

“Do I have a choice?” Crowley glares.

“Please,” Jack says, and Crowley turns his narrowed eyes on the boy. Jack meets his gaze without fear. “I miss my Dad.”

If Crowley’s face softens a bit, he’d never admit it.

“Al- _righ_ ,” Crowley sighs, turning from the group. “Keep your phone on. I’ll call when I’ve found him.” 

And with that, the King of Hell is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flower notebook is just for my friend Sawyer, who loves Crowley more than life.


	24. Chapter 24

Castiel lost track of time weeks ago. Narolin had tired of trying to get information out of him after awhile, so he was simply left to rot in the prison. Narolin would return every day or two to feed and water him, throwing questions out as liberally as his punches. All Castiel knew now was pain and cold.

It was so cold. 

The winter breeze trickled in through the cell windows, and when the snows came the flakes danced happily in to chill Castiel’s already frigid bones. He had lost feeling in his fingers some time ago, and had yet to regain feeling in his legs. He knew Narolin could heal his damaged spine-- the angel of chaos had no problem healing his other wounds only to reapply them. However, Narolin did not; he couldn’t risk Castiel running.

Castiel was left with a lot of time to think.

He had led a good life, Castiel decided. He could not remember most of his time as an angel anymore, but it didn’t bother him; his human memories were sharp, and they were all he needed. The memory of Jack’s first steps, the first time he called Castiel Dad, the way Dean’s smile was crooked when he really smiled-- they were all little tokens of humanity, of the love and belonging that Castiel had experienced. Some days it hurt to think of them, to know they must believe Castiel was dead, but most of the time the thoughts were the only things that kept him warm through the cold nights.

He decided it must be January. 

Not that it mattered.

“Rise and shine big boy,” Narolin’s voice cooed. Castiel flinched away from the sound, knowing that nothing good ever came of the angel’s visits. He looked up with only his eyes, head still hanging low in shame. His hair had gotten the better of him-- in all honesty, the length of his hair was the only thing that told Castiel of the passage of time. Everything was so still in the cell that only the aches and pain and growth in his body told him that time was passing at all.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Narolin rolls his eyes. He’s found a new vessel now, and Castiel isn’t sure what happened to Barb. He wears a blonde man now, with green eyes and a splattering of freckles. The traits echo Dean, and Castiel knows that’s the angle that Narolin is playing-- he won’t let it work. It’s not Dean, so it has no effect.

“All you need to do is give me a location, Castiel, and how to get inside. Obviously you have the place warded to high Heaven if we can’t track the Winchesters or your… Boy.” Narolin approaches with a water bottle in hand and uses a single finger to tilt Castiel’s head back. The human doesn’t fight-- he doesn’t have the strength to. Narolin presses the bottle to his lips, tilting it forward until cool liquid rushes down Castiel’s dry throat. He swallows it without struggle, reluctantly grateful for the sustenance. 

“It’s been months,” Castiel’s voice is rough from disuse as Narolin turns to collect a granola bar and a piece of jerky from a bag he’d brought along. It was the same meal Castiel had been living off of for months; water, bar, jerky. The taste made him sick now, but he knew if he didn’t eat he’d die; he was already skin and bones. “You honestly think… I’ll break down after suffering through you that long?”

“You will eventually,” Narolin feeds him pieces of the bar, making sure he swallows and finishes the whole thing, then the jerky. He allows Castiel a sip of water to finish before backing away. “They all do.”

“I’m not like anyone you’ve ever tortured,” Castiel says, shifting in his shackles; his shoulders ache at the movement but he ignores them. 

“Oh, I know. I admire your spirit Castiel, I honestly do.” Narolin begins to roll up his sleeves and Castiel knows what that means. He wishes he could plant his feet and stand strong against the blows that are to come, but all he can do is drop his head and watch the floor. 

It hurts less when he doesn’t brace himself-- his body is less tense, more pliable to the blows.

“Honestly, once I’ve killed your little brat, I think I’ll keep you… Break your spirit, let you work for me.” Narolin chuckles. “You’ve got a dark soul, Castiel… I’d love to imagine what you could do with it when you put it to the right use,”

“You keep saying that,” Castiel directs his words to the floor. 

“What, your soul?” Narolin’s shoes come into Castiel’s plane of vision and he closes his eyes. “You know what I’ve told you, Castiel… Using energy to protect your family the way you do, that’s dark stuff. Every time you do it, you’re burning out bits and pieces of your soul… What happens when you burn out the last piece?”

Castiel’s heard the words so many times in his months trapped here-- he knows what losing his soul would mean, but he doesn’t fear it. If protecting his family means becoming a demon, so be it. He knows he would never hurt them, no matter what he was. 

“Let’s get this over with,” He bites out, tired of Narolin’s voice.

The blows come as usual, Castiel trying his damndest to distance himself, but after only a brief stint they… Stop?

Castiel raises his gaze, spitting the taste of blood from his mouth. Narolin has turned his back to Castiel and drawn himself to his full height, and Castiel can feel the crackling sizzle of an angels irritated grace filling the room. He has to lean forward to peer around Narolin’s bulk, and his breath catches in his throat.

Crowley.

“What are you doing here, demon?” Narolin snarls and Crowley rolls his eyes.

“I do have a name, you know?” He scoffs, making brief eye contact with Castiel. The human sees the shock in Crowley’s gaze, the way his eyes skate over Castiel’s broken body before returning to his face. The two had never really gotten along-- mortal enemies and all that-- but there had never been any true ill wishes between them. Crowley was a… Frenemy, as Dean may call it.

“Why are you here?” Narolin demands again.

“I think you know why,” Crowley’s hands are in his pockets, his position relaxed.

“How did you find this place?”

“It’s old you _oaf_ ,” Crowley sounds exasperated. “You didn’t update the wardings. It wasn’t that hard to find if you know where to look. Now, honestly, I’m not quite in the mood for chit-chat. Give me Castiel and I’ll just be on my way,” 

“Do you know who I am?” Narolin demands and Castiel leans back as the sound of wings fills the cell. It’s display of authority, a demand for submission among angels. Crowley seems less than impressed, instead narrowing his eyes and straightening his posture. 

“I’m not here to measure dicks, you pompous chicken. Let me have him and I won’t hurt you,” Crowley is noticeably irritated now.

“You’re nothing compared to me-- an infant! I’ve been around since the dawn of time, I _created_ pain, I--”

“You are nothing but an antique, old man,” Crowley interrupts. “You may have created pain, Narolin, but I _mastered_ it. I’m the bloody King of Hell. I’ve got more torturing ability in my little finger than you’ve got in your whole body!” His eyes flash red, and Castiel gets as close to the wall as he can, knowing exactly where this is going. 

Just as expected, Narolin takes the challenge to his authority personally and barrels towards Crowley with a great growl. Crowley doesn’t flinch, instead sighing heavily and turning his hands palm up; one hand bears a bloody angel-banishing sigil, the other a bleeding cut. He claps his hands together, easy as you please, and Castiel squints against the resulting flash of light. He hears Narolin scream once before disappearing.

When he looks at Crowley again, the demon is wiping at his bloody palms with a handkerchief. He takes his time mopping up the mess before tying it around the open cut on his hand and looking up at Castiel.

“Looking well,” He greets, approaching Castiel. He unlatches the shackles, and Castiel collapses to the floor. Crowley watches, eyes widening slightly as Castiel’s face hits the floor and he cusses under his breath.

“Can’t you stand?” He wonders aloud as Castiel manages to turn his head.

“No,” He spits, and Crowley arches an eyebrow. “They paralyzed me. Said I was causing trouble.” 

“Oh, hell.” Crowley sighs, offering a hand. Castiel takes it, allowing Crowley to pull him up and hook an arm around his waist. Every part of his body aches but he ignores it for now. 

“Why are you here?” Castiel asks as Crowley makes sure he has a good hold on his companion. Castiel’s feet drag uselessly against the floor as Crowley moves towards the exit. 

“Your boyfriend sent me,” Crowley says as he kicks the door open, dragging Castiel outside. He’s not sure where they are-- only that it’s cold, and early morning by the looks of it. 

“What’s the date?” 

“January twelfth,” Crowley says. “Now shut up and hold on.”

Without more warning than that, Crowley is dragging him through space and air and he closes his eyes to avoid getting dizzy until he feels them still again. When he opens his eyes, they’re standing outside a very familiar building. Castiel could almost cry with relief, and he watches as Crowley draws a cell-phone from his pocket and punches in a text message before putting it away again. Castiel holds onto the demon and the two remain there in silence until there’s a sound and the door to the bunker opens.

It’s night, and there’s a layer of snow on the ground that barely reflects the moonlight, but Castiel can easily make out Dean’s shape. The hunter looks just as Castiel remembers him, but… Tired. His face is passive as he steps out, closing the door quietly behind himself, before turning. His eyes land on Crowley first, before flitting to Castiel.

The shock is evident in his face, and Castiel thinks he can see Dean trembling from where he stands a good six feet away. 

“He can’t walk,” Crowley shrugs. “But he’s alive.”

Crowley slowly lowers Castiel to the ground and he goes easily, mumbling a thanks as Crowley props him against a tree. Dean is frozen in front of the bunker, watching Castiel and Crowley with hawk eyes. Crowley stands upright once more and glances between the two of them.

“I’ll be checking in later,” He announces and is just as quickly gone.

That’s all the permission Dean needs, the privacy, before he strides forward and falls to his knees beside his partner. Castiel finds it in himself to smile as Dean takes his face in callused hands and examines him, green eyes fierce. He is trembling, Castiel notes, and there’s tears on his face.

Dean is crying, and not trying to hide it from Castiel for once.

“It’s okay,” Castiel finds his voice, resting a hand on Dean’s hip where the hunter kneels beside him. 

“No,” Dean gruffs, shaking his head. His hands fall away from Castiel’s face, resting now on his shoulders, two warm points of contact. “ _No_ , no it’s not okay, Cas. I should have come with you, this shouldn’t… This shouldn’t have happened, this is--”

“Do not say this is your fault.” Castiel hushes, shaking his head slowly. Dean looks so very lost, so hurt in this moment that it breaks Castiel’s heart. Part of him thinks it may have been easier if he had died, but he knows that’s not right; that would have been a wound Dean would not heal from. This one would go away with time. “Dean, you had no control here… This is no one’s fault.”

“Cas…” Dean’s voice is heavy and he drops his gaze. 

“Say it.”

“I can’t--”

“Say it, Dean. Please.” 

Dean’s eyes rise to meet his gaze and he swallows once before quietly repeating the words. Castiel knows he doesn’t mean them, but they can work on that later. There are more important things now.

“Jack?” He asks quietly.

“Sleeping,” Dean says, the barest of smiles playing at his lips. “He missed you.”

“I missed him.” Castiel says, drawing his hand in a smooth line up and down Dean’s side. It seems to somewhat calm the shaking in Dean’s body, the hunter drawing closer so his knee bumps Castiel’s thigh; he sees it, but he doesn’t feel it. “How are Sam and Gabriel?”

“The dynamic duo?” Dean chuckles, wiping irritably at his face with his shirt sleeve. He’s vulnerable in this moment and Castiel cherishes this, glad that Dean had not receded into himself while he was away. “They’re good, really good… Gabriel is going to be glad to see you.”

Castiel smiles softly, nodding, and meets Dean’s gaze. He gets lost there, in the way Dean looks at him. It’s not unusual, not special; it’s just Dean, watching him with misty green eyes that crinkle at the edge when he smiles. It’s soft and warm and it reminds him that he’s loved. 

He lowers his gaze after a moment and feels Dean coming closer. “Come one… Let’s get you inside,” He mutters almost to himself as he collects his partner and carries him bridal style through the bunker door. The locks slide closed heavy and hard behind them and it makes Castiel feel safe as Dean carries him to the bathroom and lowers him into the tub.

“Mind if I…?” He motions to Castiel’s bloodied clothes and Castiel shakes his head.

“Of course not,”

He undresses him with the ease of practice, and after a while Dean begins to start humming. Castiel closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the cool porcelain of the tub.

“You have a terrible voice,” He says, opening his eyes. Dean pauses in reaching for the faucet controls, casting him a withering look. Castiel can’t help it-- he smiles. It’s nothing small, in fact crinkling his whole face with it’s strength. Dean’s sour expression melts away and he begins to laugh, shaking his head as he turns the faucet on and waits until the water is warm to splash some in his partners face.

Dean helps him to shower away the dirt and grime and towel off afterwards. He slips into an old t-shirt and some boxers and Dean helps him to the bed before sliding under the sheets with him. The room is warm and Castiel turns his face into Dean’s neck, breathing slowly as Dean cards slow fingers through his hair.

“I missed you, you know?” Dean says suddenly, and Castiel nods against his neck, tightening his grip on the hunter. “No, Cas, I mean… I couldn’t sleep, I just… When you’re not here, I just feel like… I can’t breathe, but I had to for Jack, and… I didn’t want to.”

“Dean,” Castiel soothes, leaning back to get a good look at the hunter's face. “I’m here now, love… Rest. You need it.”

Dean watches him for a long moment before leaning in, pressing his lips softly to Castiel’s. The ex-angel's eyes drift closed and he returns the kiss gently, drawing away only once he was satisfied Dean’s body was marginally more relaxed against his own. Dean turned into his shoulder, then, pressing a soft kiss to his neck before huffing quietly and settling in for the night.

Castiel closed his eyes, comfortable for the first time in months, but he did not sleep; he stayed awake, just like he used to, and made sure that Dean Winchester slept soundly through the night.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a 4,000+ word chapter guys! I didn't intend it to be so long, but it's a turning point of the story... Happy/Sad to announce there will only be 30 chapters in this work. Things are coming to a close!!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading  
> Xx

Castiel awakes to warmth for the first time in months, unsure when in the night he had actually managed to get to sleep. His joints ache and his body feels too stiff to move, but he’s warm and safe and so happy he thinks he could cry. He reaches blindly to the side, trying to find Dean beneath the blankets, but his fingers brush over cold sheets; Dean was awake for the day and undoubtedly puttering around somewhere, tending to Jack or preparing breakfast. It brought a smile to Castiel’s face to think of it-- of the normality, the simple acts of a waking household.

He opens his eyes and is greeted with a dim room, the light filtering in through the cracked hall door just enough to illuminate his surroundings. He brings one hand to his face, scratching at his stubbled jaw and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He thinks to stand, to go find his partner, but pauses at that thought.

His legs.

Frowning, Castiel sits up in bed. As he focuses his attentions on his body, he realizes there is no pain in his legs; matter of fact, there is no sensation at all. He actively thinks of moving his toes or bending his knees but his broken body simply cannot obey his commands. It’s a sad realization, one that hadn't truly struck him until now. When being captive, he had known of his paralysis but never really had a use for his legs. Now, he did. How was he supposed to run with Jack, play games? How would he get Jack to school when Dean was away on a hunt? How would this affect his relationship with Dean? Intimacy would be useless now if he couldn't feel anything.

The realization almost ruins his mood, but Castiel realizes something; he’s been through worse. He has been brought back from the brink of death, pulled a man from Hell; he’s fought wars and lost loved ones aplenty. His legs were the last thing he needed.

He takes a deep breath, smiles. 

“Dean!” His voice is too loud in the room as he calls for his partner but he hears a sound from down the hall, then footsteps. After a moment the door opens and there he is, still wearing his pajamas where the hall light illuminates him from behind. He smiles at the sight of Castiel, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms.

“You called?” There's sass in his voice.

“Come help me out of bed,” he chuckles and Dean obeys, face soft as he comes to collect Castiel, carrying him easy as you please out of the room and down the hall. They make it to the kitchen and Dean lowers him into a chair.

“Are you sore?” he inquires, eyes roaming Castiel’s battered body as he steps back. The once angel nods quietly, looking around the kitchen; it smells like bacon and eggs. Dean’s been cooking, then.

“Here,” the hunter reaches in the cabinet, retrieving a bottle of painkillers and dumping a few into his palm. He hands them to Cas, following up with a glass of water soon after.

“Where is everyone?” Castiel asks shortly after swallowing, watching as Dean goes back to cooking, turning his back to his partner.

“Jack sleeps til about eight most mornings. Sam and Gabe usually come out of their room when they smell breakfast,”

“Their room?” Castiel arches an eyebrow and Dean simply shrugs, a smile curling his mouth as he throws some cheese in with the cooking eggs. 

As if being summoned, the aforementioned men wander into the room looking sleep ruffled and lazy. Sam is wearing only a pair of plaid pants, just like Dean does, and Castiel thinks he may have cut his hair while he was away. Gabriel is close behind, dark bags under his eyes and hair mused into a golden halo atop his head; he is wearing a pair of boxer briefs and a shirt that is much too large for him, presumably Sam's.

Neither of them notice him at first, their eyes on the floor as they enter. However, Sam is the first to look up on his way to bid Dean good morning and his words die in his throat when he makes eye contact with the figure at the table. He opens and closes his mouth twice, at a loss for words as he freezes in the doorway. Dean turns away from the stove, grinning broadly as he watches his brother’s distress, and Gabriel collides with Sam’s back as he fails to look up.

“The hell, Gigantor?” He snaps, looking up sharply, voice still thick with sleep. His eyes flash quickly upwards, past the figure at the table. His brain leads him to believe it's Dean, but then he realizes Dean doesn't have dark hair. He freezes, eyes on Sam, who has tilted his face down to meet the shorter man's gaze. 

“Sam.” It’s all he says, but his voice cracks on the single syllable. Sam’s gaze is soft and Castiel watches the larger man's hand come to rest against Gabriel’s side. 

“Yeah,” Sam answers an unspoken question with a nod. Gabriel is visibly shaken, staring at Sam a moment before finally turning; his eyes land on Castiel, who smiles despite a crooked nose and a bruised eye. 

“Gabriel,” He greets. His brother stares dumbly at him before suddenly tearing away from Sam, coming around the table and pulling Castiel into a too-tight hug. His sore body protests the involvement but he doesn't say anything, simply chuckling as Gabriel pulls away.

“How..” He tries to say and Castiel shrugs.

“Dean,” is all he says. His partner cocks an eyebrow by the stove but Castiel shrugs it off. He knew Crowley had rescued him, but Dean had to have been the driving force.

“Are.. are you okay? I mean, shit, Cas… what happened?”

Gabriel sits across from him, Sam taking the seat to his right, and Dean serves them all breakfast. Castiel is reluctant at first to share his tale-- but, between bites, he manages to recount the whole ordeal. He sees fury in all their eyes by the end, but it's the guilt in Dean's face that concerns him the most.

“We’ll get you a wheelchair,” Sam says, downing the last of his orange juice and setting the glass aside. Castiel nods his thanks, leaning back in his chair; Dean’s arm drapes loosely over his shoulder and he feels like he could sleep for a few years.

“So… you and Sam?” Castiel directs the question at his brother, who turns pink around the ears. The ex-angel shrugs a bit, glancing at his partner. 

“It’s just sort of happened,” He admits and Sam nods his agreement. 

“What does Jack think?” 

“He, uh… Gets a kick out of it, but… said we can't act ‘coupley’ around Dean.” Sam says.

“Why not?” Castiel chuckles.

“Because it would make him sad, according to Jack… he’d miss you more.”

That hits Castiel like one of Narolin’s blows to his gut, and he glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye. The hunter's jaw is tight, his eyes on the far wall. Hurt. 

“He’s always been a very observant little boy,” Castiel smiles softly, resting a hand on Dean’s knee below the table. The hunter turns his gaze away from the wall and it’s still vulnerable. Castiel wishes for all the world that he could take that pain away from his partner. Instead, all he can offer is a soft smile and a tilted head, a silent question;

_Are you alright?_

Dean’s eyes are still soft and vulnerable when he tightens his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, bending to press a kiss to the ex-angel’s temple, lips lingering a moment before he retreats. He nods, once, small and almost imperceptible.

_I will be._

Sam stands, mumbling something to Gabriel that makes him laugh as the tall man collects the dirty plates from the table and carries them to the sink. The air in the room is gentle and sedate, and Castiel feels unexpected tears welling in his eyes; he never thought he would experience this again-- he never thought he would know the gentle presence of family again. He dips his head, willing the tears away as Dean says something to Sam.

“Daddy!”

Castiel’s head snaps up at the sound of a little voice from down the hall, and the other three men in the room are silent at the sound. Something in Castiel’s chest tightens, and he forgets how to breathe for a moment when he hears the pitter-patter of tiny feet coming down the hall. His hand becomes a claw on Dean’s knee and the hunter loosens his arm around his partner, smiling.

“Relax, Cas-- it’s just Jack,”

And that was just it, Castiel thought-- it was Jack. His Jack, his beautiful little boy-- the whole reason he had lasted through the torture, the only reason besides Dean that he needed to come home. It had been so long… Would Jack even remember him? Would he care that Castiel had returned? Surely he would. Jack had always been so close with Castiel; the two were damn near inseparable before… 

Castiel stops breathing when a little body stops in the doorway. 

He’s grown. 

It’s the first thought Castiel has, looking at the little boy. Jack stands a few inches taller, and his dark hair is developing lighter highlights. His freckles are starting to blend into his sun exposed skin, not as prominent as they once were. He clings to a stuffed teddy bear that Castiel has never seen before, and his eyes search over all the faces in the room happily; one blue, one green just as they had always been.

They settle on Castiel, and the ex-angel sees surprise wash across his son’s face.

“Dad?” His voice is still tiny, and Castiel’s throat tightens as he smiles and nods.

“Hello, Jack,” He greets, and before he can do anything else the toddler is hurtling across the room and launching himself into Castiel’s lap, little arms winding around his father’s neck almost too tightly. Castiel’s arms encircle the boy, holding his tiny body as close as possible to his own.

He exhales sharply, and then inhales the soft scents of his son; bubble-bath and fabric-softener.

“I miss you,” Jack says quietly into his shoulder and Castiel chuckles, forcing himself not to cry as he rubs his son's back. Jack still has the soft lisp of a toddler - the inaccurate grammar too - and his words settle warmly in Castiel’s chest.

“I missed you too, buddy… So, so much… But I’m back now,” He assures and Jack nods, clinging to his neck still as he leans away.

“The mean angel’s gone?” He asks and Castiel frowns, brushing an unruly lock of hair from his son's face.

“What mean angel, JD?” Dean says beside them, voicing Castiel’s thoughts. Gabriel has risen from the table now, moving across the kitchen to help Sam with the dishes. He acts uninterested but Castiel knows his brother and Dean’s are both listening intently. 

“The one who gave Dad boo-boos,” Jack says matter-of-factly. “Nahr… Nare… Nore..” He struggles to get the word out and Castiel goes white.

“Narolin,” He provides and Jack nods vigorously at the same time that Gabriel spins around, and Sam drops the plate he’s washing. Dean chokes on a sip of orange juice and turns panicked eyes on Castiel.

“Narolin? The Narolin?” Gabriel hisses, at the same time Sam demands “Jack, how do you know that name?”

Jack and Castiel shrink at the same time, Jack turning into his father and hiding his face in his teddy bear's fur. 

“He probably heard it in a book,” Dean defends Jack to Sam, but Gabriel’s eyes are on Castiel still. Castiel is reluctant to meet his gaze, but he does. An unspoken conversation passes between them;

_You’ve been with the angel of torture for months?_

_Yes._

_You didn't crack?_

_No._

_I'm so sorry I didn't find you faster._

There’s so much pain, so much pity in his gaze… It takes them only a matter of seconds to communicate, but it's as long as Castiel can look at his brother. He quickly averts his gaze, focusing on anything but Gabriel.

“Narolin isn't in any kind of book he’d be reading,” Sam frowns, crossing his arms and Dean levels him with a stare that clearly says drop it.

“He doesn't need to read a book to know,” There's suddenly a new voice in the fray and Castiel tightens his arms around Jack as the toddler cranes his head to look at the newcomer.

Crowley stands calmly in the doorway and Castiel feels Dean's arm tighten around his shoulders like a vice. There was no way Crowley should have been able to get past the wardings in the bunker, no way he could possibly be standing where he was without catching fire, being sent tumbling through space to a new location, or something equally as unpleasant. His hands are tucked away in his pockets and he looks calm.

“What the hell?” Gabriel voices all their thoughts and Castiel glances back to see Sam standing protectively in front of the smaller male, who instinctually shoulders his way forward to reverse the roles. He’s no longer an archangel, but that doesn't mean he doesn't think like one.

“Mr. Crowley?” Jack’s tiny voice sounds out of place.

“Be with you in just a moment, Jack.” Crowley doesn't even look at the toddler, instead taking a step into the kitchen. For every step closer he comes Castiel can feel Dean tensing more.

“What are you playing at Crowley?” Dean’s voice is a snarl and he stands slowly, arm slipping away from Castiel’s shoulders. He misses the heat but Dean’s hand still hovers against his back, between his shoulder blades, a nervous but still comforting presence.

“I said I didn't want to be on the opposing team,” Crowley says, “but I didn't say I was on your team.”

“How did you get in?” Sam demands and Crowley chuckles, shaking his head.

“It’s easy enough to gain a child's trust, gentleman. Jack was kind enough to remove the wardings for me so that I might drop his dad off more easily when I found him,”

“Jack.” Dean doesn't look away from Crowley. “Did you mess with the wardings?”

“I-I.. I’m sorry, Daddy,” Jack hiccups, little body shaking in Castiel’s arms. Panic is slowly building in Castiel’s gut, alongside the familiar acidic bubbling of something… dangerous-- that part of him that wanted to protect his son at all costs, rearing it's ugly head. 

“We’ll talk about it later, Jack. I'm not mad.” Dean manages to soften his tone even in this moment, and Castiel wishes for all the world he could focus on what a good father his partner was-- but instead he’s struggling to remain calm.

This couldn't be happening, he thought. He had just gotten Jack back, he finally felt the hole in his chest starting to sew itself shut in the presence of his family; he couldn't lose it all again. He wasn't sure he could survive another blow; he wasn't sure what would become of him if he was removed from Dean and Jack again.

“Boys, I’d love to stay and chat but I'm afraid this isn't a social call.” Crowley moves towards the kitchen table where Cas is holding Jack as tight as he can without bruising the boy, and Dean steps in his path.

Dean’s shoulders are drawn back, knees bent slightly and spine a rigid line. Castiel can see the way he’s breathing, drawing in deep and slow breaths like a predator preparing to pounce. It’s the same way he breathes at night, when Castiel’s head is pillowed against his chest and he knows the ex-angel is listening to the sounds of his breath where they roll through his body like waves crashing against a beach before receding. 

Sam and Gabriel come forward too, and Castiel feels utterly useless where he clings to Jack. He can't defend Jack, he can't run the boy to safety-- for God's sake he can't even stand up. Jack is trembling and Castiel swallows, mouth dry as he realizes their odds; it’s three against one, yes… But it’s three humans against one King of Hell. 

“Jack,” He whispers, and the frightened toddler turns his head to watch Castiel instead of his other family members, eyes wide and afraid. “Look at me, okay? Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay… Daddy, Sammy, Gabe and me are going to be fine and you will be, too.”

“Dad..” Jack’s lower lip is trembling and Castiel hears the other men say something before Dean is suddenly thrown across the room and into a cabinet whose doors splinter under the force. He flinches, fighting every instinct that wants to run to his beloved. Instead, he focuses on Jack; when the toddler tries to turn towards the new sounds of a fight, Castiel grabs his face between both hands, holding his gaze. 

“Look at me, Jack.” His voice is forceful, but not afraid. He can feel it now, boiling low in his gut and crawling over his skin. It feels like his entire body has fallen asleep; it's the same pins and needles sort of feeling-- but he can feel it in his legs, and he knows. This is what Narolin talked about, the dark part of him that was willing to sacrifice his soul to protect his son.

He sees his pupils dilate where his face is reflected in his son's frightened eyes, feels the humming hiss of electricity start to vibrate through his body as the lights in the room begin to flicker. He sees it all in Jack’s eyes, and for the first time he isn't afraid of it-- it doesn't overcome him, he doesn't black out. He isn't panicked, in fact… he's calm. He knows what he’s risking, but he knows he has to risk it.

“Dad! No, you can't!” Jack is crying, little nails digging into his arms so hard it hurts, and he realizes Jack knows. 

He can hear everything in the room, can see Gabriel, Sam, and Dean fighting desperately against Crowley. He can see their skin and bones breaking, can hear their scuffling, can see how they're barely managing to keep Crowley at bay-- but his entire world is narrowed down to his son. His son, who knew too much, his son who cared too much.

He can feel feel his back aching, whispers of long gone wings calling to him as the familiar tingle of this… pseudo-grace spreads across his skin.

“Jack. _Run._ ”

Jack doesn't want to listen to his father, but he’s gone the second Castiel releases him, darting around the fray and rushing off into the bunker. 

Castiel inhales once, exhales.

He stands.

Everyone in the room turns to look at him, and Crowley’s eyebrows knit together.

“What do you think you're doing?” He demands, eyes flashing red. Gabriel is trying desperately to get up from the floor but Castiel can see his leg is broken, and Sam is struggling to keep him down. Dean is coughing blood, struggling to his feet.

“ _Cas._ ” 

It’s the way only Dean says his name, and he stops long enough to meet his lover’s eyes. Dean is standing, bloody and afraid, and Castiel can see the halo of light building around himself in his own reflections-- it was funny how he saw himself best through the eyes of those he loved. Dean swallows, shuffling forward.

“Cas.” 

The question is unspoken.

_What’s going on?_

Castiel holds out a hand, stopping him with a slight shake of his head and a soft frown.

_I’m sorry._

Castiel turns, away from his family and towards the enemy, and Crowley has little to no time to adjust before Castiel is slamming into him and both their bodies are flying through two sheets of drywall and they’re lying on the library floor, Crowley’s coat lapels clutched firmly in one of Castiel’s hands and the other fist striking the demon’s face. 

Crowley snarls, and Castiel can feel heat boiling off the king’s skin as he becomes more agitated and kicks at Castiel, sending him flying into a table which collapses under his weight. The angel, for he is one for however long this lasts, climbs back to his feet at the same time that Crowley does and they run at each other with full force, colliding somewhere in the middle of their separate paths, resulting in a sound so loud Castiel is faintly aware of glass shattering somewhere in the bunker.

Castiel’s body remembers the motions of combat far better than he could have hoped, and he meets each of Crowley’s blows with his own, or a defense. He takes as much as he can deal out in the way of harm, though, but he barely feels it in the adrenaline surge. Crowley is getting frustrated, it’s clear, but he waits for the right moment to raise a leg and kick Castiel so hard in the stomach that the angel goes flying into a shelf, sending books scattering across the floor as he falls into the shelf.

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” Crowley snarls, stalking forward and grabbing the fallen angel by his shirt front, hoisting him to his feet only to drop him again. “You’re running on fumes, Castiel. Give up now, or you won’t have any soul left to live with.”

It sounds almost like a friendly warning, but Castiel knows Crowley serves only Crowley as much as he may seem friendly at times. The demon has a foot on his throat now, grinding down on his airways. He chokes, spluttering as he tries to pry the demon off and regain his lead.

“Enough is enough, Castiel. _Stand. Down._ ” 

Castiel thinks standing down may be his best option-- if Crowley did take Jack, he would need his strength to get him back--

“Jack is coming with me and you can do nothing.”

Standing down leaves his mind entirely. In fact, he realizes, he has one last ditch idea; it’s desperate and perhaps a bit reckless, but it will work. He inhales deeply, watching Crowley where the angel leers over him, and exhales.

Then he screams. 

There’s nothing human about the sound. He can feel it shaking the very foundations of the bunker and every bulb in the building bursts, glass fixtures falling to pieces and walls crumbling. Crowley stumbles back in shock, face contorted as he grabs for his ears. Castiel manages to climb to his feet, the sound dying away for a brief second before the angel grabs Crowley by the chin, slaps a hand to his forehead and urges every ounce of his being into the center of his hand.

Crowley snarls, and the room goes blindingly white for a moment as he funnels his very being into neutralizing this threat… 

And then, it’s quiet.

Castiel is breathing heavily, and Crowley is lying on the floor, unmoving. Castiel breathes in deeply, suddenly able to feel every ache in his body-- but his legs don’t give out. In fact, he feels… Oddly calm. He doesn’t feel the adrenaline from before, the fear, the power surge… In fact, Castiel feels…

Nothing.

“I warned you,” 

Castiel looks down, watching as Crowley slowly pulls himself to his feet. He’s bleeding from his eyes, ears, and nose, but… He’s surprisingly unscathed despite the attack he’s just endured. He brushes plaster dust from his coat, shaking his head as he narrows his gaze on Castiel.

“Sit down.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes, but-- he obeys. He knows he should be shocked, he should question what’s happening, but oddly enough the same sense of calm passivity lays in his chest as he lowers himself into one of the surviving chairs in the room.

“I’m going to go get Jack. I'm going to knock your brother and the Winchesters out, maybe even injure them further if I desire. And you are going to sit here and stare at the wall until exactly ten minutes after I walk out of this building, am I understood?”

Castiel simply nods. 

He stares at the wall for a very long time. He hears the door close eventually. And he sits, counting out the minutes.

Six minutes and forty eight seconds after the door closes, he hears Dean calling for him. 

Seven minutes and thirteen seconds after the door closes, Dean finds him.

Dean doesn’t manage to get a word out of him until ten minutes and one second after the door closes.

“Dean,” He says, and the hunter is frantically attempting to tend to Castiel’s new wounds. He freezes, green eyes wide and panicked and begging for comfort, but all Castiel can think is… Nothing. He swallows, looking into those green, green eyes.

“I can’t feel anything.”


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

A cup of coffee is warm and fresh in Castiel’s hands. He can feel the smooth paper surface of the travel cup against his palms, the heat seeping through his skin. He watches steam curl lazily on the surface for a long moment before slowly raising his gaze to where Dean is pacing up and down a narrow gravel road, speaking in low tones to an unnamed hunter on the phone. Gabriel and Sam don’t look much different, save for the lack of phones; they’re moving nervously, skating around each other and Dean as they pour over maps and discuss strategy. 

Castiel leans idly against the Impala. He knows he should be concerned - his son was missing, most likely trapped in Hell with Crowley - but he instead feels only an overwhelming sense of… Boredom.

He’s incredibly, stupendously, utterly bored.

He entertains himself by watching Dean. The hunter is distressed, but - and oh he should feel bad about this - very nice to look at in such a state of disarray. His hair is ruffled, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink from the bitter winter winds. His shirt is cut low, and his arms are exposed to the snow; his skin is dotted with goose flesh because he was in too much of a rush to grab a jacket before leaving. 

Castiel thinks fleetingly of kissing the hunter, but he assumes that would upset his partner - and it may be a bit inappropriate, he guesses - so he doesn’t. Instead, he sets his coffee atop the Impala and slips out of his coat. Folding it over his arm, he meanders over to where Dean is wrapping up his phone call, shoving the phone in his pocket now that he’s no longer using it.

“Any luck?” He asks.

“Don’t.” Dean snaps, and Castiel is all too familiar with that tone; it’s the voice he reserves for enemies, things that Dean doesn’t feel are worth his time.

“Dean,” He sighs. “I’m still me.”

“You’re a demon.”

It’s true. It didn’t take long to figure it out, after Crowley had gone and they had begun their frantic search for Jack. Castiel listened to Crowley because he had no other choice; his king commanded him, so he had to obey. He had finally done what everyone warned him against, tapping into his soul to protect Jack-- he had used his soul up entirely, and all that had remained was a poisoned, blackened thing that they could only assume was a demon.

At least, Castiel was pretty sure the whole carnal-desires-only-please thing and lack of fucks to give qualified him as one.

“You didn’t care when I was an angel or a human,” Castiel shrugs, holding out his jacket. Dean looks at it as if it’s personally offended him and Castiel rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh, shaking the coat. “You’re cold, Dean, just take it.”

Dean watches him for a moment before reaching out, taking the coat warily as if it may bite him. He slips it on, rolling his shoulders; the fabric is a bit too tight on him - he’s bigger than Cas - but he appears noticeably less chilled. He manages to grumble a thanks and Castiel dips his head in acknowledgment.

“You really aren’t worried about Jack?” Dean says, burying his hands in the coat pockets.

“I’m really not.” Castiel shrugs, starting back towards the Impala. Dean follows instinctually, but keeps his distance. It reminds Castiel of their relationship before Jack; how they always danced so carefully around each other, like one touch meant certain death. “I know I should be, but I just feel…”

“Numb?”

“Bored.”

He makes a face as they reach the Impala, retrieving his coffee and taking a long sip. Dean gives him a sour look, shaking his head as he motions Gabe and Sam to join them. The two make their way over, Gabe turning his coat collar up against the wind and Sam tucking his scarf into the neck of his coat. There’s fresh snow falling and Castiel thinks that he may normally take an interest in the menial happening, but as of now he simply does not care.

“Anything?” Sam asks.

“No. Told them to pass the word that my kid’s been abducted though; the whole network’ll be on the lookout soon,” Dean sighs. He looks tired, worn down.

“We’ve done everything we can, Dean… We can’t ask the angels for help, they’ll want to kill him the minute they get their hands on him.” Sam frowns. 

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“What?” Dean frowns, turning to face him.

“I mean… There’s one angel who knows who Jack is. Sure he’d be willing to help.” The demon shrugs. Dean narrows his eyes, and Gabriel and Sam exchange curious looks. 

“Who Jack is?” Sam echoes.

“Oh, we still haven’t told them?” Castiel mock-whispers, looking to Dean, who glares.

“You know-- I really hope we fix you soon, because if not I’m gonna kill you.” Dean growls, hands clenching into fists. Castiel flashes an absolutely lecherous grin before winking and Gabriel steps in when Dean lunges for Castiel’s throat, catching the hunter mid step with two forceful hands on his shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa-- calm down. What’re you talking about, Castiel?” He glances at his brother over his shoulder as Sam motions Dean to step back.

“Jack is… Well, he’s God.” Castiel shrugs.

“Very funny, Cas,” Sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he looks to his brother. Dean is standing still, watching Sam calmly. Gabriel is looking to Dean as well, waiting for the punch line that isn’t coming. 

“Dean?” Sam demands.

Dean says nothing.

“Wait,” Castiel can see Gabriel’s hackles rising, his brother’s brown furrowing deeper than he’s seen it in a long time. “You mean to tell me Jack is God?”

Dean nods.

“As in our father God whose been missing for centuries?” Gabriel motions between himself and Castiel and the demon chuckles.

“I never did think of it that way, but I suppose you’re right.” He nods.

“You shut it until you get your soul back, or I’m not going to stop Dean from kicking your face in next time!” Gabriel barks, jamming a finger in Castiel’s face. The demon thinks passivley of breaking it but refrains. Gabriel turns back to Dean after a moment, expression furious. “How long have you two been hiding this?”

“Cas figured it out last Christmas.” Dean’s voice is quiet, and Castiel knows he’s upset that he’s disappointed Sam; he can see it in the younger Winchester’s face, the way he’s glaring at his brother that he’s hurt he’s been kept out of the loop.

“How do you know?” Gabriel demands, spinning on his brother once more.

“Joshua,” Castiel says, shrugging. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sam demands quietly, asking the real question that Castiel knows they’re both wondering.

“The less people that knew, the better.” Dean sighs.

“We’re his family,” Sam argues, shaking his head.

“And Cas and I are his parents,” Dean snaps back, narrowing his eyes. “We were only doing what was best for him.”

“Well maybe if you had told us, we wouldn’t be in this situation! Castiel would have a soul and Jack would be safe!” Gabriel snaps, and Sam places a soft hand on his partner's shoulder, trying to urge him to calm down. 

“Would you all just _shut. Up_!” Castiel snarls. He can practically feel himself drowning in their angst and it’s disgusting. Is this what he’s like when he feels things? “Every second you all waste with your blubbering is a second we could be using to get Jack back. Gabriel, pray to Joshua-- he won’t be able to hear me like this. Sam and Dean, go catalog weapons in the Impala or something.”

The other three men stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Now!” He adds in a growl, and Dean and Sam jump slightly before hesitantly moving around to the trunk of the Impala. Castiel motions Gabriel to follow him with a jerk of his head, and the two begin strolling away from the Impala at a casual speed. Gabriel is watching Castiel, the demon can feel his eyes like lasers, and he sighs when they get out of earshot of the Winchester’s.

“What?” He asks irritably.

“What’s it like?” He asks, and Castiel cocks a brow.

“What, being a demon?”

“Yes,”

“Not much different from being an angel, honestly,” He admits, shoving his hands in his pockets. His arms are exposed to the elements now, Dean wrapped in his coat somewhere behind them. He barely feels the wind. “I suppose being an angel is more… Pure. Less of things trickling through, more of an all around… Blank sheet. When I was an angel - before I started falling in love with Dean - I didn’t feel anything. Now, I feel some things but only the rawest kinds if that makes sense,”

“Such as?” 

“Lust, mainly. Anger, irritability. I’m sure I might be able to feel grief if it was strong enough-- all the bad things are there somewhere I’d guess,” Castiel stops under a tree a few yards out from the Impala, sure now that they’re out of earshot of the Winchester’s. He turns to face his brother, examining the snowflakes caught in his dirty blonde hair. 

It reminds him of when he was young, looking up at his older brother’s raw form; the trails of stardust that dappled his being, the way Gabriel curled and shone brighter than the other angels. He remembers the sense of dumbstruck awe that had overcome him, the warm sense of comfort and safety that Gabriel cast over him, but he frowns to realize he can’t actively remember how to feel it anymore.

“You really aren’t concerned for Jack?” 

Castiel scoffs at the repeated question, sure that Sam would have asked it too if he had been given the chance. He shrugs. “I know I should be, Gabriel, and for now that’s as good as it’s getting. He’s my son, and I haven’t forgotten that much. Which is why I pulled you over here,”

“What?” Gabriel’s brow furrows and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re going to pray to Joshua-- but not to help,” He explains. “You’re going to pray to him to take me to Hell.”

“Are you _crazy_!” Gabriel’s shout echoes and Castiel takes a step towards his brother, shushing him harshly and glancing towards the Impala, watching for a moment to make sure the boys hadn’t heard.

“Historically, the Winchester’s are terrible with hostage situations.” Castiel explains in a hushed tone. “They… We are far too eager to sacrifice ourselves for each other. Yes, Joshua may be of some help-- but he’s only one angel, and he can’t take out a hoard of demons to get to Jack. I can.”

“You’re barely even a demon, Cas! You’re just a soulless guy with… Thirty percent of the juice of a demon,” Gabriel hisses, shaking his head. “No, it’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t you see? It’s doesn’t matter, Gabriel! None of that matters; I can’t _feel_ anything. I won’t have emotions getting in the way-- I’ll get Jack out,”

“I don’t see how not having any concern for Jack’s safety will help you get him out,” Gabriel frowns.

“I won’t have any concern for _mine_ to get in the way.” 

“What are you…” Gabriel shakes his head, frowning-- and then freezes. Castiel watches it wash over him like an ice-bath, his face paling as he begins to frantically shakes his head no. 

“Gabriel, you know it makes sense.”

“What you’re talking about is a suicide mission, Castiel!” Gabriel is visibly shaken, and Castiel wishes he could empathize. 

“Maybe so,” Castiel shrugs. “But Jack is safe, and God is in safe hands. I don’t see much of a choice,”

“What about Jack?”

“He’ll have three parents still,”

“What about _Dean_?” Gabriel reaches for him and Castiel tries to step back, but his brother is quicker-- he grabs Castiel’s left hand, jerking it to eye level and shoving it in Castiel’s face before releasing it. 

His face is reflected in a silver band around his ring finger, expression passive. He pauses at the sight, caught off guard but not surprised; he tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he studies the band. He hadn’t thought much of it since the Christmas Dean had gifted it to him. He knows Dean wears a matching one, and he knows they’re both significant-- not of marriage, but of… Partnership.

Castiel lets the hand fall back to his side.

“He’ll move on.”

Gabriel’s eyes widen and he stares at Castiel a long moment before shaking his head, averting his eyes to the ground for a long moment before looking up again, gaze now made of steel.

“Joshua,” He says, never losing eye contact with Castiel. “Brother, if you can hear my prayer-- we need your help. Father is in trouble.”

The brothers maintain eye contact for a long moment before there’s the soft flutter of wings, barely heard over the breeze, and Joshua is standing a few feet from them, brows knit.

“Brothers,” He says, then pauses, squinting hard at Castiel. “Castiel, you…”

“Demon, yes, I know, thank you. Not why we called you here.” Castiel rolls his eyes, and Gabriel sighs, shaking his head.

“Joshua, Crowley has taken Jack-- God. We don’t know where he’s keeping him, but we need your help getting him back.” Gabriel explains. Joshua frowns, rubbing a wide hand over his jaw thoughtfully.

“I… Cannot enter Hell for long, not without starting a war.”

“Can you get me in as close to Jack as possible, and then get out without being seen?” Castiel tries. Joshua gives him a strange look.

“You don’t need my help to get into Hell, Castiel… You are a demon, now. Though, your… Vessel is highly damaged. How are you standing? Your spine is damaged.”

“You tell me,” Castiel shrugs. “And I know I can get in-- but I don’t know Hell as well as you, and I know you’ll be able to find Jack faster than me.”

“Does your human know what you intend upon doing?” Joshua prods.

“I… Suppose I should go tell him,” Castiel looks to Gabriel for reassurance and the ex-angel nods, arms still crossed over his chest. Joshua nods his own approval, pulling Gabriel aside to talk.

Castiel inhales deeply and makes his way back to Dean, interrupting his conversation with Sam to ask if they might speak privately. The brother’s exchange a wary glance before Dean nods, following Cas as the demon moves down the gravel road with no particular destination in mind.

“What is it?” Dean demands, blowing into his palms and rubbing them vigorously together for the sake of warmth as they walk.

“I’m going after Jack,” He says, and Dean rolls his eyes as they walk.

“We all are,” He says.

“Alone,” Castiel clarifies. Dean stops dead in his tracks, green eyes surprised as he turns to face Castiel. The demon turns slowly, meeting his partner’s gaze evenly.

“No.” Is all Dean says.

“I’m not asking, Dean,” Castiel shakes his head, smiling a bit at the defiant set of his partner's jaw. Dean was always a feisty one-- Castiel liked that about him. “And I didn’t really want to stop to tell you, if I’m being honest. But… You are… Important. And you deserve the right to a goodbye.”

“That’s it? ‘You’re important and you deserve a goodbye.’ You can’t even say it right now, can you?” Dean scoffs, hands flapping about in the air with his words. He’s always been this way; the more frustrated he becomes, the more animated he becomes.

“Say what?” Castiel humors him.

“I love you!” Dean bellows, and the sound echoes. Castiel can see Gabriel, Joshua, and Sam turn towards the sound. Dean’s voice lowers again as he speaks, but it’s still angry. “You can’t even call me your boyfriend. What the hell were you thinking, Cas, giving your soul up like that?”

“You don’t like it when I use the word boyfriend,” Castiel smirks, and he fully expects to get hit for the comment. What he receives instead is far more pleasant.

Dean grabs him by the front of his shirt, hauling him in close. There’s a brief moment where their bodies touch and there’s a thin veil of air between their lips, a moment where Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s and they both seem surprised by this turn of events-- and it’s gone just as quick. 

Dean is just tall enough that he has to dip his head to kiss Cas, and Cas thinks that it’s always been one of his favorite things; the way Dean seems to impose upon him, shelter him when they kiss. One of his hands finds its way to the back of Castiel’s neck, pulling gently at the fine hairs there while his other hand finds a place on Castiel’s waist. Castiel all the while simply melts, clinging to the front of Dean’s shirt and trying to remember how to breathe through the experience.

When Dean kisses him like this, Castiel remembers why he left it all behind - Heaven, anglicism, the only world he had ever known - for this.

When Dean withdrawals, he’s breathing hard but he doesn’t let go of Castiel. Their foreheads are pressed together and their noses bump and Castiel simply lets it happen; he wishes he could feel the usually sense of warmth and giddy-affection that follow these kinds of behaviors, but he can’t. All he feels is the heat of Dean’s body.

“I just got you back,” Dean whispers, and Castiel isn’t sure he’s ever heard the hunter’s voice sound quite so broken. “Don’t make me lose you again.”

“I can’t promise anything, Dean,” Castiel frowns, flattening his hands against the hunters chest, smoothing his shirt gently.

“Just say you’ll try, okay?” Dean’s voice is barely audible.

“I will,” He humors his lover, and he can feel Dean’s heartbeat under his fingertips; it’s quick and unsteady and Castiel smooths his hands back and forth over Dean’s chest as if he might calm its erratic behaviors from the outside.

“Okay,” Dean is holding his breath. “Okay…. Go, figure out how to fix your soul while you're down there… and, Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Bring our son back-- and make Crowley pay.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait, everyone! I have finally made it through exams and am home for a month, so expect updates!

Crowley was prepared for him, of course; anyone who threatened a member of the Winchester family would be an idiot if they did not expect a counter-attack. Joshua got him as close as he could, leaving him in a hallway near where Jack was being kept before vanishing-- and Castiel didn’t blame him, honestly. Being the cause of a war between Heaven and Hell was no easy burden to bare, Castiel would know.

The hall was too quiet, candlelight from the torches casting shadows against stone walls. Sounds of screams and cries echoed distantly behind the hiss of flame and the clatter of chains, but Castiel ignored it all; he felt a strange sort of tugging in his gut, a sensation he was unfamiliar with. He frowned, creasing his brows as he looked around.

“Quite a rescue party you’ve brought with you,” 

Castiel rolls his eyes. He’s hardly in the mood for Crowley’s commentary as he turns to face the king of hell where he’s appeared at the end of the hall, his usual coat vanished to a location unknown. Instead, he wears only a simple black suit. Castiel’s eyes trail all the way down his arm, to where a small hand is clasped in his.

Jack is standing quietly beside Crowley, his expression glazed over-- almost drugged.

“What did you do to him?” Castiel demands, and some part of him - deep, deep down inside where what was left of his soul resides - twitches uncomfortably. 

“I simply reminded him who he was,” Crowley chuckles, shaking his head and glancing towards the toddler. “He simply couldn’t believe it, I think… Some sort of built in self-protection. He’s been like this since I told him,”

“He’s a child,” Castiel hisses, taking a step forward. “He doesn’t know how to read, let alone understand the fact that he’s God,”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Crowley chuckles, raising a hand and stopping Castiel in his tracks. “He may not comprehend it right now-- he may be in this state for years, but I’m willing to wait.”

“You know, this is low even for you, Crowley.” Castiel narrows his eyes. “He’s a child for a reason. Why do you think He would have done this if He didn’t have a reason?”

“Who bloody knows, Castiel, he’s been gone for centuries! You angels and your undying faith, it’s pathetic!” Crowley snaps, dropping Jack’s hand; it falls limply to the toddlers side and Castiel takes two steps forward, towards his son, but Crowley steps between them.

“Ah, ah ah!” He shakes his head, and Castiel is still, gritting his teeth. “You don’t want to do that.”

“I think I do,” Castiel starts to move again but Crowley snaps his fingers and before the demon can react, his knees crumple against his will and he’s left on the floor glaring up at Crowley.

“I believe that my control over you will only last so long with your offspring being threatened, but before it wears off I’d like to make a deal.”

“I don’t do deals,” Castiel hisses.

“Oh, but you’ll be interested in this one,” He chuckles and Castiel lifts his chin, trying to get a glimpse of Jack around Crowley’s legs.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I know how to fix your soul,”

“Bullshit,” Castiel spits.

“Oh, I do-- but there’s a price,”

“What?”

“The boy is mine. You and the rest of the bloody Winchester clan can never come after him again; he will be mine to wield as I please,”

“If I don’t want my soul back?” Castiel watches Crowley from under his lashes, hands curled into fists.

“Then you can take the boy and be on your way,” 

Castiel doesn’t believe it.

“What’s the catch?”

“Oh, no catch.” Crowley chuckles, stepping aside and motioning to where Jack stands, swaying slightly in his trance-like state. “It’s simply a matter of choice. You, or the boy.”

“You think that’s a hard choice?” Castiel scoffs, and he can feel Crowley’s hold over him weakening. He attempts to stand, but falls again.

“Oh, I know it is,” Crowley chuckles, watching as Castiel tries once more to get to his feet and manages it, knees trembling slightly as he uses the wall for support. The tugging is back in his gut and he holds his stomach as if it may help get rid of the feeling.

“You’re wrong,” He hisses.

“Am I?” Crowley laughs, walking once more to Jack and resting a hand atop the toddler's head. “Tell me, Castiel, do you feel anything looking upon this boy?”

“Of course I do,” Castiel snaps. He has a duty to Jack, he knows that much-- and he does feel something, but… It’s not enough to be called any sort of discernible feeling.

“No, you don’t!” Crowley bites back. “What you’re feeling is obligation, you fool-- you told the Winchester’s you would bring the boy back, but you could honestly couldn’t care what the boys fate is right now.”

“You’re wrong,” His voice isn’t as strong as he wants it to be.

“Do you feel it, in your gut? That pulling sensation, trying to lead you away from here?”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel demands, swallowing. He moves towards Jack, knees still unsteady as he approaches.

“It’s your grace, Castiel… I took it out of Jack-- he had more than enough without yours to add to it, what with he being God and everything. I have it here, with me.”

“You’re lying,” 

Castiel’s stomach feels hollow and he thinks he may be sick. His grace… He hadn’t thought about the possibility of getting it back, not since before Jack. He thought back on anglicism frequently, yes, but he knew that gaining that status back was impossible. 

“Why would I lie about that?” Crowley laughs, shaking his head. “If I didn’t have something to offer you, I wouldn’t have you within grabbing distance of the boy.”

“My grace is gone, Jack absorbed it.” Castiel says, swallowing. He’s mere inches from Jack now and he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t. “And besides-- I can get both. Maybe not now, but eventually.”

“No, you can’t.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “Heroes don’t always win, Castiel, and the day doesn’t always get saved. This isn’t a fairytale, this is Hell. You’re going to have to make a choice,”

“I choose Jack,” Castiel says without thinking and Crowley chuckles, reaching in his coat pocket. Castiel tenses, expecting a weapon, but when Crowley withdraws his hands it’s nothing of the sort.

It’s beautiful, more so than Castiel would have expected; it twists and swirls and dances in rare shades of blue and white and gold within its glass vial, and Castiel nearly cries at the sight.

His grace.

He suddenly can’t breathe.

“Is that your final choice?” Crowley says, shaking the little vial in his hand. Castiel’s throat tightens and he feels numb-- this close to his grace, he can feel it pulling to him, and he can feel the stirrings of emotion. Just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to make him grab his son and make a run for it. 

“Crowley…” His voice is weak and Crowley shakes his head.

“What’s even the point in bringing the boy home, Castiel, hmm? You can’t feel anything-- you wouldn’t be a good father to him,” 

“You’re wrong,” He snaps.

“Even with your grace back, you’d have to learn how to feel all over again-- you’d be pathetic,”

“None of that matters, I choose Jack.” He snaps.

“You won’t ever be able to love Dean Winchester again,”

That is cause for hesitation.

This close to his grace, Castiel can feel the twinges of absolute dread that fill him at the idea of losing Dean forever. He would never experience the rise in pulse that came with each kiss, the way his breath fled his body when Dean looked at him. He may never feel anything but the press of flesh when Dean took him to bed. He wouldn’t feel anything when Dean said the words ‘I love you.’ 

He’d be a shell.

It’d be as good as being an angel again-- only, Dean would never be able to lead him into the light. He’d never learn how to feel, he’d never love again.

He swallowed, looking at his son.

“You can’t make me choose.” He wishes he didn’t sound like he was begging.

“Oh, but I can,” Crowley chuckles, shaking his head. “So, Castiel… What’ll it be?”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: NSFW PORTION OF THIS CHAPTER

Jack is peaceful when he sleeps, Castiel thinks. He watches the toddler’s tiny chest rise and fall as he breathes, sprawled on his stomach with his face pressed into a pillow. Castiel is careful to tuck the blanket closer around his body, carding a gentle hand through his son’s dark hair. He stirs faintly but Castiel knows he won’t wake as he leaves the nursery, pulling the door closed quietly. 

The bunker is quiet, save for the faint buzz of the hall lights. Sam and Gabriel are asleep for the night and Castiel knows Dean fell asleep by the front door, waiting on his return-- he had passed him on the way in, slumped over with a sawed off in his lap. He sighs quietly to himself, knowing that he’ll have to wake his partner from his fitful sleep. 

He hovers a brief moment outside of Jack’s door, bracing himself, before he heads down the hall to the front of the bunker and takes the stairs slowly up to the door. Dean is right where Castiel left him, mouth hanging slightly open and knuckles white where he’s gripping the sawed off. Castiel crouches slowly in front of him, elbows on his knees for balance. 

“Dean,” He says softly, and Dean reacts as if he’d dropped a bomb. The hunter lurches forward, weapon drawn and aimed in a split second, barrel nearly touching Castiel’s chest. He blinks twice but doesn’t move, afraid Dean may shoot out of fright. The hunter’s sleepy gaze settles on his face and it takes him a beat to realize who's staring at him before he lowers the weapon with a relieved sigh.

“Cas,” He says quietly, and Castiel nods in response. “Did… Where’s Jack?”

“Asleep,” Castiel answers, sitting back, his spine barely touching the iron railing caging them in on the walkway. He’s sat across from Dean now, their toes barely touching. “Crowley… Attempted to divulge his true identity to him, and he was in shock. I had Joshua wipe his memory of the event… Jack should wake up with no recollection of the past twenty four hours,”

“Oh,” Is all Dean says, staring warily at Castiel. Castiel knows that look, the pain he sees in his partner's eyes. It’s all he can do not to reach for Dean, draw him in and comfort him. “Are you still…” Dean starts.

“I don’t have my soul back,” He admits, and he watches Dean’s face crumple. “But, I… Am not a demon.”

Dean’s brow furrows and Castiel smiles the tiniest of smiles at his confused expression. He’s always loved watching Dean work out a puzzle; the hunter was smart, smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for, and he worked tirelessly to find solutions. His face always gave him away though, the way his brows threw themselves low over his eyes and his mouth tightened; his thought process was etched into his face.

“I don’t…” Dean frowns. 

“I got my grace back, Dean,” He smiles gently, watching as a flurry of emotions pass over his lover's face-- shock, confusion, joy, and then… Suspicion. 

“How?”

“Does it matter?” Castiel replies.

“Yeah, actually,” Dean huffs, setting his sawed off by his side and crossing his arms over his chest. “Your grace was gone, Cas. Jack took it,”

“And I managed to recover a small portion of it,”

“ _How_?” 

Dean’s jaw is set, his eyes hard-- Castiel knows he has to give the hunter some kind of answer, or the matter will become an argument that may spiral out of control. He licks his lips, pausing; the last thing he wants to do is lie… but he wants even less to fight with Dean.

“Before Joshua wiped Jack’s memory, I managed to break through his fog and ask for a touch of grace… Just something that would allow me to… feel, again.” The words slide off his tongue too easily, and just as he expected he sees Dean’s expression soften.

“So… You have your mojo back - sort of - and you rescued Jack?” He looks to Castiel for conformation, and Castiel nods.

“Okay,” Dean nods slowly, licking his lips and glancing downward for a long moment. Castiel thinks he may be upset but when he looks up again, there’s an odd look on his face. 

“Say it.” Dean says, rising up on his knees. He has Castiel’s undivided attention now as he moves towards the re-empowered angel in the small space between wall and railing. His knees find a place, one between Castiel’s splayed thighs and the other on the outside of his left leg. His eyelids are drooping, but those green and gold eyes are like knives carving a slow path across Castiel’s face. 

Castiel can’t think, let alone speak as Dean presses firm hands into his shoulders. He feels the cool iron of the railing pressing into his back, heat radiating from Dean’s body where the hunter seems to tower over him. He knows this version of Dean all too well, the way his pupils swell and his breath drops low and quick. Arousal.

“Wh… What?” Castiel manages as Dean crowds his space and the hunter chuckles, the sound rumbling lowly through his chest. Castiel’s gut pulls strangely and he licks his lips nervously, his hands finding their customary place on Dean’s hips. 

“You know,” Dean bows his head, lips brushing against Castiel’s temple. It sends static sparks skittering across his skin and his eyes drift closed of their own accord, his heart setting a newly elevated tempo. He thinks, somewhat distantly, that demons and other soulless creatures should be pitied for their lack of ability to feel love-- to experience the physical on an equally spiritual level.

Castiel is still dumbfounded, lost somewhere in the brush of Dean’s lips against his skin as he attempts to make sense of Dean’s request. The hunter’s hands are sliding lower, over Castiel’s abdomen until they find the hem of his shirt and tug with barely-restrained force. Castiel concedes without having to say a word, lifting his arms over his head and allowing Dean to rid him of his shirt. 

“Say it.” Dean breathes against his collarbone and Castiel shudders, head falling back against one of the iron rails with a hollow sound. Castiel almost wants to cry in frustration, knowing that Dean will cease this torture and get on with it once he hears what he wants-- and then it strikes him.

“I love you,” He all but chokes, his hands finding Dean’s face and drawing it towards his own, until blue and green gazes meet and he can see the slight hesitance in Dean’s eyes-- the fear that had been there before, when he accused a very soulless Castiel of being incapable of saying the words. The fear that he was alone, unloved. It was a fear Castiel knew Dean lived with constantly, but it still broke his heart to see it rear its ugly head.

“I love you,” He says again, less desperate and more forceful. Dean smiles at him, the tiny fragmented sort of smile that appears when he feels uncomfortably close to a ‘chick-flick’ moment. Castiel returns the expression, drawing Dean in and slotting their mouths together carefully. 

Dean inhales softly and Castiel brushes his thumbs gently over sharp cheekbones before releasing his hold on Dean’s face, instead holding him by his waist now. Their lips move in slow tandem and Castiel wishes briefly that he could simply melt away, become one with the man hovering over him.

Dean draws back, exhaling once before drawing in a ragged breath-- and the moment is over just a quickly as it came. Castiel can see the change in Dean’s face and feels himself falling into the same state of mind, his grip on Dean’s waist tightening into something more akin to a vice. Dean grins at him, wicked and full of filthy promise, and then all bets are off.

What once was a plea for closeness and comfort changes, as it always does, into a frenzied race to see who can get naked the fastest. Dean wins- as he almost always does- and helps Castiel to shed whatever clothing he may have left before laying Castiel out against the cool iron catwalk in front of the bunker door, his back arching up and away from the frigid material. He doesn't have time to gasp his surprise because Dean’s mouth is suddenly against his and they're sharing what seems like a very limited supply of air. 

Castiel manages to get a grip on Dean’s back just long enough to dig his nails in, to try and stake a claim, and Dean all but snarls above him and bites Castiel’s collarbone in a firm - but not too firm - sign of warning. Castiel needs no further direction, letting his legs spread wide so Dean can settle in between them with a low sound of want. Castiel can feel Dean’s arousal clear as day against his hip but his own is more intense-- he feels it in not only in the throbbing pressure between his own legs but throughout his entire body. It's the sort of pins and needles feeling of a limb that's fallen asleep, only deeper, not as close to the surface. It makes him squirm underneath his partner, forces him to throw his head back against the cold surface of the catwalk with a barely contained snarl of impatient frustration. He feels more so than sees Dean hesitate and his head snaps up, blue eyes meeting green, and his message comes across clear; _don't you dare stop_.

Dean can't do anything besides huff a laugh, lining himself up over Castiel before beginning to push in slowly. Castiel is thankful for his returned supply of grace, using it to make the process smoother and far less painful than the lack of lubrication would have otherwise allowed for. He starts to reach for Dean, looking for something to hold on to, but Dean simply gathers his wrists in one hand and pins them over his head, trapping Castiel in place. The angel closes his eyes, soft sounds escaping him to match those of Dean above him, and settles in to enjoy the ride.

Sex had never been about pleasure for Castiel - though that was nice, indeed - no, it had always been about connection. Here, he felt close with Dean; he knew Dean was displaying his affections, knew there was no danger of miscommunication where their physical union was concerned. In no complicated terms, sex was easy. He struggles momentarily to pull his wrists from Dean's grip, to hold the hunter to him, but Dean isn't having it tonight. The fair haired man drops his head to Castiel’s shoulder, sweat beading his forehead and Castiel tries to maintain his breathing so as not to rattle his head around too much.

“Love you,” Dean pants and Castiel all but melts, going completely lax as the pins and needles feeling starts to take over his body. “Don't want to lose you… Can't lose you,”

“Dean,” It's all he can manage to say, and he feels Dean's rhythm beginning to falter. He looses his grip on Castiel’s wrists and the angel takes the opportunity to grab at the Hunter’s back and shoulders as he struggles to find purchase before he reaches the edge. 

“Cas,” Dean is growling his words now and Castiel holds on tight, his vision beginning to blur at the edges and his whole buddy thrumming with the feeling of release when Dean finally cries out “ _Castiel_ ,” against his neck--

And every glass fixture in the bunker explodes.

Castiel doesn't see it. His eyes have rolled back in his head and he’s focusing on not breaking Dean where he’s crushing the hunter to him. He hears the sound though, sees the flash of light through his eyelids, and he knows he may have let himself get a little too into it-- a little too out of control. It’s something he knows he’ll have to address later, but for now he simply focuses on breathing and pulls shaky fingers through Dean's hair as the hunter tries to do the same. 

“Dude. Did you just…” Dean’s voice is muffled against his chest and Castiel cracks one eye to watch the disheveled hunter where he lays sprawled over Castiel’s body. Dean isn't watching him, but instead looking at the darkened bunker.

“Mhmm.” Castiel shrugs, shameless. Dean turns his head just minutely to meet his gaze-- and they begin to laugh. It’s quiet at first but it only takes moments for them to dissolve into obnoxious fits of giggles, and Castiel thinks that he hasn't been this happy in a very long time. 

“Dean?” The voice echoes from down the hall and they both try to control their laughter as footsteps come pounding in their direction. “Dean!” It’s Sam, Castiel realizes, and Dean shakes his head against Castiel’s chest before sitting up.

“Everything’s fine, Sammy!” He calls back and Castiel can just barely make out Sam’s figure in the dark as he steps into the room below them.

“What the hell was that?” A second voice demands and Castiel chuckles, realizing there's a second figure behind Sam-- Gabriel.

“It was my fault,” He says, sitting up and leaning his chest into Dean’s back, chin on his shoulder. “I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“Cas?” Both voices exclaim.

“He got Jack back-- and his grace,” Dean announces, turning to press a kiss to Castiel’s jaw.

“ _Oh_ ,” Gabriel says at the same time Sam replies “That's great, but what's with the lights, Cas?”

Castiel can barely make out Gabriel tugging Sam back down the hallway as he says “Believe me, Sammy boy, be grateful the lights aren't on.” Castiel tries not to laugh at Sam’s confused sound as Gabriel calls a goodnight over his shoulder and they disappear down the hall once more. Dean seems to relax a bit, leaning his weight back against Castiel and allowing the angel to hold him up.

For a long time they don't say anything, Castiel peppering small kisses along Dean’s neckline. Dean seems lost in thought before finally demanding “So is that it?”

“Hmm?” Castiel hums.

“Are they done coming after Jack? Can we… Can we relax for a bit? I mean, is he safe? Are you safe?”

“Dean,” Castiel sighs against his partner's neck, shaking his head. “I can't promise anything, but… Joshua assured me he would lead the angels to believe Jack perished and… Hell won't be an issue.”

“What do you mean?” Dean shifts in his arms to face him and Castiel shrugs, glad Dean can't see his face in the dark. 

“I simply mean I made an example of Crowley that won't soon be forgotten. I think it's safe to say… It’s over.”

It’s not entirely a lie.

Dean all but melts into him, hiding his face in the angel’s neck, and Castiel exhales in a joint release of tension. He’s cold and they're awkwardly cramped on the catwalk-- but he couldn't be more content. He presses his face into Dean’s hair, closing his eyes… And he wishes, with all his might, that he could stay here with Dean Winchester forever.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left after this-- another small one, and a little token to commemorate the end of Cas, Dean, and Jack's story.

Years pass, and there’s a calm in the Winchester’s lives that they’ve never known. 

Jack grows into an intelligent teenager with a good sense of humor and an unrelenting love for his parents. He exhibits no stereotypical teenage behaviors, instead choosing to stay close to his family for fear of losing them as he so frequently did as a young child. His days are divided between early mornings with his Papa and Uncle Sam, reading through old lore books or working on handy-jobs around the bunker, lengthy school days, and afternoon art projects with his Dad and Uncle Gabe.

If there was anything besides fear of loss that kept Jack in line, it was his parents. They loved with unrelenting force, unlike anything Jack had ever seen or thought he might see again. They moved around each other with quiet grace, always orbiting each other in a path so close Jack sometimes thought they might collide. Even as Papa’s face started to crease with laugh lines, some of his freckles hidden in their folds, and Dad’s hair became peppered with grey, they still acted like young teenagers who had only just fallen in love.

Jack asked them why, once-- how they managed to find that spark after so long. They simply grinned at him, like there was some sort of secret, and Papa had informed him “Well, let’s just say we have a lot of time to make up for, kid.” 

It made Jack smile, and Dad blushed.

Life was calm, and Jack did his best not to disrupt that-- even when he remembered, even when things came back to him about the day Dad rescued him from Crowley. 

Even when Jack knew the truth, he did his best to keep their lives quiet.

Ten years passed in quiet succession. Ten birthdays, ten Christmas’s, ten anniversaries. 

Jack knows the world is holding its breath this year, just like he is. He sits quietly on this particular day, scribbles the number ten across his homework page again and again again--

Dad steps into the room, his expression composed.

He sits on the edge of the bed, but Jack doesn’t face him. Can’t face him.

“You know I picked your middle name,” He says by way of greeting-- Dad has never been one for social normatives. He always gets right to the point.

“I know,” Jack says. “Papa told me, once.”

“Did he tell you what it means?”

“No. I always assumed it was an angelic name,” Jack confesses, turning finally. Dad is staring at his shoes. One is untied. He’s dressed in slacks and a buttoned shirt, hair combed neatly. It’s date night.

“No,” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No… It’s Latin. It means gift,”

“Really?”

“Jack,” Dad takes a deep breath, and Jack realizes he’s holding it-- the world is holding it, Jack is holding it… Everything is so still. “I… Don’t mean to sound too sentimental, but… I hope you understand that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“I thought that was Papa,” Jack tries to smile but he can’t quite manage it.

“Your father didn’t happen by chance-- I was assigned to him,” Dad chuckles, shaking his head. “You… You were unexpected, unwanted even at first, but… A gift, nonetheless. Something I could never imagine living without,”

“Dad…” He tries, but the man continues.

“Jack, I have loved you since the moment I knew you. You and your father are--”

“Dad-”

“... worth everything to me, and I could never bare to lose either of you in any--”

“DAD!”

His father freezes, eyes wide as he looks at his son for the first time. Jack is trying his best not to cry, nails digging into his palms so tightly he thinks he may be bleeding.

“Wi… How will it happen?” He manages to choke out.

His Dad looks shocked for only a brief moment before understanding crosses his face and he licks his lips, shifting on the bed.

“Car accident.” He finally says.

“Are you scared?”

“Not for myself.” 

“Papa?”

“And you, yes.”

“Are… Are you saying goodbye?”

He doesn’t have to say anything for Jack to know the answer. There’s only so much the child can handle -- for God’s sake, he’s barely a teenager. He bites his lip to hold it back, but Dad sees right through him as he always does. He stands, crossing the small space between them to wrap his son in a firm embrace. Jack clings to his waist, face pressed into that stupid date-night shirt. He tries to memorize this moment-- how Dad smells, the sound of his breath, the feel of him within arm's reach.

Dad pulls away after a long moment, brushing Jack’s hair from his eyes. 

“You gave me the gift of purpose, Jack Donum Winchester. Do not ever forget that.” 

Just as quickly, he’s gone. Jack hears him calling out “Dean, let’s go!” as he wanders down the hall and not long after the Bunker door opens and closes.

Jack is holding his breath again.

He looks at the paper on his desk and traces over the number ten with his eyes.

He hates the number ten.


	30. Fin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy the lovely sketches below that my college roommate drew for this fic! If you like her art, she is looking for some commission work and would be glad to draw you something beautiful: https://hannahdraws16.tumblr.com/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for following me through this! I love this work so much and I'm honestly sad to leave it behind, but... I feel it has ended where it should, and I will leave it alone to rest. Again, thank you-- particularly to @jamezverusaum for commenting on almost every single chapter, and others who left comments that pushed me to finish!

It was dark.

 

No one can really say what happened.

 

It was a matter of light and sound in the end.

 

Red and blue flashing across blood stained asphalt.

 

A broken man crying for help.

  
  


 

It was a matter of silence.

 

The absence of breath.

 

Empty lungs.

 

A still heart.

  
  


 

Sam breaks the news to Jack.

 

He answers “I know.”

 

Papa doesn’t speak for a week.

 

Everyone says Dad died smiling.

 

Jack knows they’re right.

  
  


 

Below the Earth, he is smiling.

 

He greets an old enemy as a friend.

 

“Did you make the most of your time?”

 

“Every second of it,” He answers.

 

 

 

Crowley smiles despite himself.

 

He extends a hand.

 

He may have been the first to take down a Winchester,

 

But the man went with dignity.

 

He has to respect that.

  
  
  


Castiel takes his hand, shakes it.

 

The deal is complete.

  
  
  


His smile never falters.

 

 

Toddler Jack

 

 

Castiel


	31. UPDATE

Hello everyone. 

I just wanted to make everyone aware that I am in the process of rewriting Continuity. I love this story but I wrote it as it came to me, and thus there are many errors and plot holes I plan on addressing. The rewrite will not be on A03. I will be posting it on my new Wattpad account. The name of the story has also changed; it will now be titled "The Way." The link is down below. I hope that you all will give the rewrite your support and that you enjoy the changes and updates to the story!

https://www.wattpad.com/561071920-the-way


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